


Iustitia

by PhantomArchangel



Series: The Horizon [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Decapitation, Dom/sub, F/F, F/M, Gun play, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Politics, Slavery, Slow Burn, absurdly light sided sith warrior, aka racism, also including other playable characters, blaster play I guess then, light side Jaesa, lots of politics, pretty much all characters at some point, really really slow this is gonna be a long ride guys, species-based discrimination
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2018-05-25 23:21:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 35
Words: 439,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6214225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomArchangel/pseuds/PhantomArchangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gimrizh Korribanil was a ward of the Empire, raised to either become Sith or die trying. A newly made apprentice, her goal is simple; don’t die, and don’t let those she cares about die - no small task for a Zabrak orphan in the xenophobic Empire.<br/>Malavai Quinn was an ambitious rising star in the Imperial Army before circumstances knocked him down, court-martialed him, and forced him into a deal with the devil to survive. An honorable, duty bound officer - now turned into a spy.<br/>Around them, the tensions between the Republic and the Empire simmer just below the surface, threatening to engulf the galaxy in war once again.<br/>(A slow burn space opera)<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dramatis Personae

**Author's Note:**

> Currently being re-written, if you're confused about the sudden drop in chapters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The new chapter 1! Updated as of 4/8/18

~*~

"Bringing in prisoners, really, what sort of Sith are you?"

Vette perks up at the noise coming from outside of the holding cells. It’s Jailer Knash talking. He’s irritated by something - he’s never in a pleasant mood, she suspects that’s a feature, not a bug, in the personality of someone in his line of work. But this time, he’s insulting a Sith.

She can't say she minds the idea of Knash sassing a Sith - it won't end well for him, but there's a small pleasure in hearing _someone_ mouth off to them. It had been Sith acolytes that caught her sneaking into that tomb and therefore it had been Sith that had put this _stupid_ collar around her neck. The damn thing itches too, keeps her up at all hours of the day and night as if to rub it in her face that she's right back where she started. Damn Imperials and their damn slavery.

"A Sith who'd like to be moving on," a cutting voice replies. _Huh_ , Vette pauses for a second. _That wasn't the voice I was expecting._ Definitely a woman then, and probably young.

Maybe even the same age as Vette herself. Her Sith experiences had involved mostly adult men, all of them gross. The one who’d captured her had been pale as a klorslug larva and just as slimy. Logically she knows that Sith don’t just spring into being fully grown, all veins, foul temper, and wandering hands; she’d even seen young acolytes when they dragged her into the bowels of the Academy. But still, surprising.

"...Of course," Hah, Knash got snapped at by a Sith - the best thing she’s heard since being locked up.

The door slides open and Vette subtlety cranes her neck to get a good look at the Sith that has chosen to grace their presence today. On the other side of the stuffy jail cells, she can see the three prisoners she shares space with trying to do the same. She can't blame them, odds are the Sith has come to kill at least one of them. That's just how Sith work.

As far as Vette is concerned, she's putting her money on the Sith not being there for her. The other three got transferred in recently and have much worse crimes than being a thieving alien, or so they’ve said. Not like they’ve had anything more interesting to do than chat to each other. One is some old soldier, a very likely target as the Empire treats failure like a plague that can only be stopped by rapid execution. She's not sure who the other two are, but she's pretty sure one is an assassin or a spy or something. Also a likely target for a Sith's wrath.

The one good thing about being a Twi'lek stuck in the Empire is that no one sees her as anyone of importance. At least their dumb 'humans first' bullshit can be easily exploited.

_Or maybe not,_ Vette thinks as the Sith steps into the chamber.

The Sith's a Zabrak? Vette wasn't expecting that. Stars, the Empire is so hypocritical if they don't apply their dumb laws to force users. So what, species only counts if they don't have the potential to crush some poor guy's neck with the force? Just proves what a load of rubbish all that is.

And yup - Vette's right. The - surprisingly Zabrak - Sith goes straight for the first victim in the form of the ex-soldier.

Vette turns away. She doesn't particularly want to see someone get chopped up via lightsaber.

~*~

Darth Baras spares a glance at the stasis container which holds Tremel's severed hand, his latest trophy and perhaps not the only thing of value he'll end up taking away from Korriban. At first he had thought that Vemrin would be a perfectly acceptable new apprentice, someone who he could easily lead around on a leash. One more sparkling tool for his impressive collection - either as a hitter, a spy, or simple cannon fodder if need be.

But Vemrin seems to be fading as of late, losing his luster and potential as he's swiftly surpassed by another acolyte.

Vemrin is simmering with bloodlust, impatient to kill and prove his worth on the battlefield in the way many acolytes do. This girl is like that as well, he can sense the same rage in her heart and how desperate she is to release all that pent up anger. But she's also a tad calmer than Vemrin. All in all, a good thing, really. Often it is all too easy for Sith go insane with power - his sister is one perfect example.

Baras needs someone with more raw power, less ambition, and less of a tendency to fly off the handle as soon as a potential threat appears. He only takes the best and Vemrin is no longer that. A lightsaber that hisses and sputters, that has a will of its own beyond the will of its master’s, is not of much use to him. With a quiet chuckle he addresses the severed hand that is all that remains of his old enemy.

"It appears as though you were correct about that acolyte, Tremel." He taps the container and sends the liquid inside sloshing around. "It’s a pity that she removed you from the picture before you will be able to see what she’ll become under my tutelage. If only you had stayed out of my way."

And look, he can sense her presence now. She's approaching his chambers and her signature in the force is unwavering, even confident to some degree. Clearly her task has been successful.

"Enter." He waves his hand and the doors slide open.

She enters and kneels down before him, her head bowed in respect. “I’ve completed Overseer Abaron’s graduation trials. And as you ordered, I infiltrated his offices - the holos I retrieved are right here.”

From her uniform pockets, she retrieves the datapad Baras had given her and levitates it into his waiting hand.

Obedient as well as powerful. Tremel might not have known how to use her, but he certainly did have good taste.

"Well done. You have one final test before you," Baras clasps his hands behind his back and steps away from the severed hand so that she can see it clearly.

As he hoped, her eyes shift from him to the hand for just a moment, long enough for her to recognize who it belonged to. And then her eyes flicker back to him, without a single emotion changing on her face. Guiltless too. Excellent.

"You need a lightsaber and only one will do - I want you to retrieve an ancient lightsaber from the tomb of Naga Sadow."

It actually isn't necessary - most could be given a crystal, a word of direction, and then create a perfectly acceptable lightsaber. But in this case, Baras wants to throw her straight into the worst situation possible. If she survives, she's worth it. He thought Vemrin was the best potential candidate, but he never threw him into the fire like this. He has to make sure _she’s_ the real deal before wasting time on her. No more coddling his apprentices.

And he wants to see how she’ll kill Vemrin. There are few places in or outside of the Academy where acolytes can reasonably kill one another, but that tomb is one of them. How she kills her enemies will determine where her best place in his forces will be. Is she a swift executioner, or a savage brawler?

"Yes, my lord," she intones. She's not afraid, or well she _is_ but she hides it admirably.

It's not a hopeless task and she'll be expected to complete more challenging if he takes her as his apprentice. He won't make it impossible for her, although he hopes saddling her with a slave will be a neat handicap. “There’s a Twi’lek slave in the cells who will know how to enter the tomb,” he tells her, “fetch her and force her to open the way for you. Once you are inside, there should be nothing blocking your way to reach the lightsaber. It is a simple enough task- do not fail me."

"Of course not, my lord."

"Oh," Baras pauses. "One more issue. Vemrin _will_ try to stop you. I will be disappointed if you show him mercy."

He would be too. If his latest apprentice just _lets_ her biggest rival go without at least a bit of torture, then what sort of Sith will she be? A calm, and steady mind are all well and good. But any mercy must be weeded out at once. Nip it in the bud, as it were. If she proves herself to be worth his time, then he’ll need to ensure no _sentiment_ will get in her way further down the line.

“As you command, my lord Baras," she says flatly, bowing once more before turning and leaving his chambers.

Once the door closes behind her, Baras turns back to Tremel's hand.

"To the victor go the spoils, old friend."

~*~

Gimrizh stares down at the sleeping form of the jailer. Knash, if she remembers correctly. The man is leaned against the wall and lightly snoring. How irritating. Low security does _not_ excuse sleeping on the job. She nudges him with her foot.

"I have another task for you," she orders.

Her rudeness does the trick. Knash jolts awake and scrambles away from the wall he has been using as a pillow. He fumbles for a moment, almost saluting, almost bowing. "I uh- yes?" He eventually settles on clasping his hands behind his back. He would almost look like a professional, if not for the half-asleep look on his face.

Oh well. He hardly matters and she’s not in a place of any real power over him. "I require one of your prisoners, a Twi'lek woman," she informs him, "Lord Baras will have sent the forms ahead and she will be released into my custody."

"Alright," Knash replies with a shrug and gestures for her to follow him into the cells. "There's only one prisoner currently here who fits that description - most Twi'lek prisoners get sent straight to the slave camps they escaped from. This one didn’t have a collar with identification on it, and we couldn’t find anything to ID her when we picked her up. The Inquisitors have had a couple turns at her - gotta find out who sent her to break into the tombs."

She gives Knash a nod as they enter a room filled with cells. It's very familiar, the Academy doesn't have large jail cells as most prisoners are sent off to Ziost or Dromund Kaas, and this is the same place she was sent to judge three prisoners on Tremel's request. That had not been the most pleasant of experiences, and Tremel's resulting lectures had been worrying, to say the least.

His reminders ring heavy in her ears, even now. She does vaguely remember a Twi'lek woman being locked up here though. That must be her new associate.

"That's the Twi'lek," Knash says, pointing to the only occupied cell in the room. It _is_ the same woman as before, probably only a year or two younger than Gimrizh herself and looking up at her with shockingly purple eyes. Gimrizh has met Twi'leks before, back in her classes in Institute Five, but they had all been Sith like herself, with red or orange eyes. Perhaps purple is a normal eye color among Twi'leks. It isn’t like _she’d_ know.

"Hey there," the woman says with false cheer, wiggling her fingers briefly at Knash, "Looks like your Sithy friend is back."

Knash gives her an almost gleeful glare. "Learn respect." And then he presses a button on a small controller and oh -

It's an electroshock collar.

The Twi'lek falls like a sack of bricks, twitching as the electricity runs through her. The way her limbs jerk uncontrollably makes Gimrizh wince, even as the woman wraps her arms around her chest and pinches her eyes shut to still herself. Finally it stops and the woman gets back on her feet like nothing has happened.

She even tosses one of her lekku over her shoulder. “Really? This is getting old. You lot aren’t very creative.”

How many times must she have been exposed to electroshock torture to get used to it like that? Knash did say that the Inquisitors had interrogated her, but Gimrizh’s studies hint towards the Inquisitors often utilizing far more subtle methods than a handful of force lightning.

"She's a pest. Kept making annoying bird noises for about a week once. Best to keep an eye on her," Knash instructs, "And I suppose this is yours now."

He drops the controller into Gimrizh's hand. It's quickly tucked out of sight before she has to look at it any longer than necessary.

Knash deactivates the glowing barrier field and the woman inside scrambles out as soon as physically possible.

"Okay, I’m not complaining but _why_ are you letting me go?" she demands.

"This Sith is your new master now," Knash tells her gleefully, "You'll be serving her however she sees fit. Good _luck_."

The Twi'lek’s blue skin pales. She looks apprehensive at Gimrizh, as though facing down a rabid acklay. It might be rude, but from her perspective, Gimrizh can understand such fear. Sith don't have a pleasant reputation for a very good reason, and most are the same staunch blood purists that would see a Twi'lek in chains for no reason other than their lekku.

"Come with me and get any confiscated weapons you need," is what she tells the Twi'lek instead, and turns on her heels, "I’m in a bit of a hurry."

And then the Twi'lek is hurrying to catch up and dogging her footsteps out of the bowels of the Academy. She rushes by one of the guard desks and retrieves a weapons belt outfitted with two blasters and a series of odd contraptions, slinging it across her waist.

"So uh," the Twi'lek gives a nervous sort of cough, "What exactly do you need me to... do? Of course, if the answer is 'nothing' I'll be thrilled, but I doubt it."

"You managed to break into the tomb of Naga Sadow," Gimrizh reminds her, "which isn't a feat most can claim, and to be honest, it's knowledge limited to only a few. Although you were captured the last time you attempted to do so, this time our expedition has been sanctioned by Darth Baras. I want you to put your skills to use without the interference you faced last time.”

The Twi’lek skids to a stop. “You want me to go _back_ there?” she gapes at Gimrizh, incredulous. “Are you completely insane?”

“No, I am _not_.” She might be. Her actions last week - she won’t think about them. If she stops to consider what she did and why, she might end up turning herself into the Inquisitors for treason. “I’ve been ordered to retrieve a lightsaber from the tomb and I’ve been ordered to take you with me.”

“A lightsaber? All this trouble for a _lightsaber_? Can’t you just, I don’t know, _make one_?”

It’s a fair question, and one she's curious about herself. While most of Naga Sadow's treasure horde has been protected over the years, there's still a number of excavation projects underway and lesser artifacts that the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge doesn't care about. One of Sadow's many lightsabers would hardly be _noticed_. But it would be easier for her to craft one. She understands the concept well enough.

Someone else’s lightsaber feels impersonal. She’s never really had many things of her own, and she’d been almost looking forward to crafting a lightsaber. Something that was hers right down to the core.

Still. The appeal of using one that might have graced the hand of such a respected Sith makes part of her long for it, long for something that might help her fit in just as much as her horns and tattoos make her stand out. If she has Naga Sadow’s lightsaber, no one can deny that she’s supposed to be a Sith.

“Orders are orders.” If she fails Baras, she knows there will be consequences. Besides, after Tremel pushed her up into the Academy a year before she was supposed to be transferred, any failure whatsoever will only guarantee her downfall. Like it or not, this is her only chance to fulfil her greatest desire and become Sith. She's spent her whole life preparing for this - she's not failing now.

“That’s stupid," the Twi'lek snaps back with such a lack of care that it surprises Gimrizh. "Have you ever even _used_ a lightsaber before?”

“Once,” she replies, her stomach twisting as she tries not to remember what had happened the last time she’d had a lightsaber in her hand.

“Are you _lying_?”

“No. Besides, I have confidence that if you got in once, you can pull it off again.”

The Twi’lek holds up a very confused finger. “Did you just _compliment_ me? Wait, nevermind. I probably don’t want to know.”

Explanation finished, Gimrizh sets off down the corridor again.

They’ll have to take a speeder five hours to the north to get closer to the tomb and from there on out there will be near constant danger. All sorts of beasts, native to Korriban and almost as old as the tombs themselves, have been left to roam as they please, since much of the planet is a historical sanctuary protected by the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge. If the wildlife isn’t dangerous enough on it’s own, there's sure to be other opportunistic acolytes looking for old treasure - or simply acolytes taking advantage of the fact that there's no way to enforce the Academy's no-killing rule in the more dangerous tombs.

Of course, getting out will be easier than getting in, as she’ll have a lightsaber on the way out. Unless Vemrin shows up. Of course he’ll show up, what is she thinking? He’s been antagonistic towards her since day one and there’s no way he’ll pass up a chance to try and kill her away from the eyes of the Academy Overseers.

Actually… She can’t keep referring to the woman as simple ‘the Twi’lek’. “What’s your name?”

The Twi’lek looks a bit surprised again, “Oh, I’m Vette. I’d shake your hand but I don't think that’s how Sith do things.”

Vette. Strange name, but again, how would she know? She hasn’t been off Korriban since she was two and she doesn’t exactly know many Twi’leks. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Vette,” she says, “I’m Gimrizh Korribanil, of Institute Five.”

“I know who you are,” Vette says thoughtfully. “Or I _sort of_ know who you are. You were the Sith that was sent to deal with those prisoners.”

“Yes.”

“Thanks for not killing any of them, by the way. The jail smelled bad enough already. Also, you know, prison is boring, we chatted and I kinda was starting to like them.”

Gimrizh flinches. “I should have killed some of them.”

“What? Which ones? None of ‘em seemed that bad to me.”

“The Bith, at least.”

“Why?” Vette narrows her eyes, but Gimrizh doesn’t think the woman is angry, not yet. More curious perhaps. “Because he’s not human, or because your bosses know that he’s not human?”

“What’s the difference?”

As they step out into the dry chill of Korriban, Vette has no reply. Instead she just hums thoughtfully and continues to give Gimrizh that strange, unnerving look as they load up a standard issue Academy landspeeder.

~*~

Pain echos in Tremel’s arm. A medical stasis field keeps the agony at bay and prevents blood loss or infection, yet it cannot do everything and so he must tap into the dark side, grit his teeth, and ignore the injury.

The cold winds of Korriban at night whip around him. On any other night like this, he would be back in the central Academy. Perhaps he would be in his office, wrapping up the last vestiges of his work into the early morning, or maybe he’d be having a late dinner with Eskella - but he might never see her again. Far in the distance glow the bright lights of the Academy, and if he turns around to look behind him, he can make out the high beams of a landspeeder making its way towards Institute Seven.

He stands with his back to the small light corvette and waits as the figure running towards him on the horizon grows in size.

The figure is a man - a _Jedi_ , although Tremel has promised to attempt to get along with the man, at least until they are safely off world. “My apologies for running late,” the Jedi says. He comes to a stop in front of Tremel and has to catch his breath. “I had a few unfortunate difficulties in escaping.”

Tremel turns his nose up at the man. “And here I thought the Inquisitors were _letting_ you go.”

“They needed to convince me I was escaping,” the Jedi replies, scratching the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “I am… not in the best of form.”

“Then we should leave shortly, as _my_ departure from this planet is shockingly less legitimate than yours.”

“Yes, I know. Gimrizh told me. I’m impressed with her bravery.”

_Bravery_? As if it was something so righteous. Jedi are all fools. “She is young, and to her Lord Baras is a vague shadow of a threat that she does not yet comprehend. She believes him to be the same as the Institute Overseers that she has dealt with all her life. To defy Baras is a game she thinks herself practiced at.”

The Jedi frowns. “She was brave to tell me the truth.”

Tremel resists the urge to roll his eyes and instead stands back to let the Jedi unlock the ship. “The only reason she told you the truth was because the planet in question you’re protecting is Mirial. Had it been anywhere else, she would have followed the Overseer’s plan.”

“You are a very pessimistic man. Are all Sith so?”

“Be silent and pilot this damn thing.”

~*~

Vette leans outside Darth Baras’s office doors. “I don’t want to see this. Can I not see this? He’s just going to yell at you and be… awful?”

“Very well. Please don’t wander off.” Gimrizh grabs Vemrin’s handcuffs and hauls him into Baras’s office without the Twi’lek behind her.

Her fellow acolyte struggles pointlessly in the thick metal restraints, and the obscenities he’d been cursing earlier have been muffled ever since Vette shoved a strip of cloth into his mouth - for which Gimrizh finds herself being quite grateful. She might be used to the insults against her species that Vemrin had been hurling, but that doesn’t mean she’d enjoyed listening to them.

Gimrizh throws Vemrin onto the floor of Baras’s office and then drops to one knee, head bowed before her new master. “My lord. I’ve retrieved one of Naga Sadow’s lightsabers.”

“Ah, I see. Did the slave serve you well?” Baras tilts his head slightly and she thinks he’s examining the weapon that is now clipped to her belt.

The lightsaber - _her_ new lightsaber - is an older model. It’s grip is wrapped in bantha leather that’s been worn thin by age, and some of the buttons have rusted to the point where she will need to oil them and perhaps even replace them if she ever wants to adjust the length of the blade. Even the metal is dented from use, scratched, and eaten away in places. She should really clean it. Once it shines it’ll work far better.

It could be even better. She still wants to change it. Some part of her wants to just take the crystal and start from scratch. But then it would not be Naga Sadow’s lightsaber, it would just be nothing at all.

It’s her lightsaber now, it just doesn’t feel that way. It doesn’t fit her hand as it should, it feels borrowed, wrong, like a piece of valuable jewelry handed to a child.

“Yes,” she tells Baras. “Thank you for allowing me to use her.”

She finds herself beginning to genuinely like Vette. The Twi’lek is unlike anyone she’s met before. Brash, to be sure, but not grating. Funny, with a complete disregard for the rules in a way that makes Gimrizh’s hearts race, and she seems possessed of the uncanny ability to lighten even the dreariest of situations. Gimrizh is almost envious of that.

Baras clasps his hands behind his back. “You may keep her, if you find her of use.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

“Did you have any difficulty?”

“No, my lord.”

“Any… unforeseen complications?”

“... No, my lord.”

“Then _why_ ,” Baras demands, gesturing angrily towards Vemrin, “have you brought _this_ back here?”

Shit.

When Baras had said no mercy - she’d assumed he meant that she was not to allow Vemrin to escape. Was she wrong - no. That’s not possible. She’s captured him and brought him back to face punishment for breaking the rules that prohibit attempted murder between acolytes. She had even brought him to Baras instead of one of the Academy Head Overseers, as she had presumed, given Baras’s secretive and often somewhat insidious nature, that Baras would prefer to handle the matter of Vemrin’s exile from Korriban himself.

She struggles to keep that emotional turmoil to herself but can’t help asking - “My lord? I don’t understand?”

With a tug of the force, Baras drags Vemrin to his feet until the acolyte is dangling an inch above the ground. Then Baras draws his lightsaber and cuts Vemrin’s head off.

“I expect my apprentices to take out their own trash.”

Blood pools on the shiny office floor and the familiar smell of burnt flesh burns in Gimrizh’s lungs and she can’t look - can’t look at Vemrin’s _head_ \- can’t cough out the smell - can’t move or shake because Baras will see -

She draws in a deep breath. Doesn’t gag. Forces herself to nod calmly at her new master. “My apologies. I will do so in the future.”

“Meet me in Kaas City within the month for your next assignment. During that free time, I suggest you sort out the paperwork for your official promotion to apprentice, and I expect you to handle your own transportation and accumulation of any equipment you may need.” Baras turns away from her, and from the angle of his head she thinks he’s looking at the jar containing Tremel’s hand. “Oh, and send someone to clean up Vemrin’s mess.”

“Yes, my lord - my master.”

She keeps her eyes pressed tightly shut until the doors of his office slide closed behind her back.

“How did it go?“ Vette takes a closer look at Gimrizh’s pallid face under the dark lines of her tattoos. “Oh shit. That bad?”

“We - “ Gimrizh clears her throat. “We need to travel to Dromund Kaas. Right away. Darth Baras is expecting us in Kaas City, and there is work that must be done before we rendezvous with him, and I need to find clothes because all I own are Academy uniforms, and - and I need to find a cleaner.”

“Cleaner?” Vette raises an eyebrow and then looks slightly ill. “Well. I can’t say I’m sorry to see that guy go, but I’m glad I didn’t have to… actually _see_ him _go_ , you know? You pack your bags, I’ll fetch a cleaner, okay?”

“Meet me by the front entrance in ten minutes.”

“You got it.”

Gimrizh’s hands are shaking.

They don’t stop shaking even after three different turbolift rides to the dormitory wing and they’re still shaking as she packs everything she owns into one small bag that she can easily carry over one shoulder.

Punishment for breaking the rules is a whipping. Or it’s missed meals, or a session with the Inquisitors, or if it’s severe enough, exile from Korriban and prohibition of ever becoming Sith but it’s not - it is not execution. This is not Academy sanctioned. Even if Vemrin _had_ killed her, he probably would have faced only a minor punishment. When she had killed - when she was back in Institute Five she had never experienced more severe punishment than a month in an Inquisitor’s custody.

If she fails Darth Baras, she will die.

That’s unacceptable. She won’t entertain that possibility. She’ll do as he says and follow orders and she won’t make herself a liability or cause trouble.

By the time she and her small bag are walking through the massive entryway out of the Academy, her breathing has calmed and her eyes are clear.

She nods at Vette’s cheeky wave and she’s collected herself decently enough once they start heading towards the shuttle pads that can take them to Dromund Kaas.

She scans her ID card at the shuttle terminal and -

“Not accepted?”

Vette peers over to stare at the holo screen. “You don’t have money. Oh, and it still lists you as an acolyte, so you don’t get free trips around imp space or something? Does Darth whatsit know?”

“ _Don’t_ call him that,” Gimrizh hisses under her breath. She darts her eyes around to make sure that no one else milling around the shuttle depot heard Vette’s remarks and thank the stars they’re in the clear. “I am supposed to complete my paperwork in Kaas City, but if I can’t get there then - of course. Lord Baras said I was responsible for my own transportation. He’s still testing me.” She pauses. “Or hazing me.”

“I’ll go with hazing,” Vette replies.

Either way, they’ve got no transport off planet. Finally leaving Korriban _had_ seemed too good to be true.

Vette nudges Gimrizh to the side and starts scrolling through the list of flights to Dromund Kaas, and then the ones off Korriban, and then some strange holonet site that Gimrizh is pretty sure requires two very illegal proxy servers to even view. “Are you sure you should be doing that?” she asks doubtfully. “It could trigger alarms in the Academy.”

“Nah,” Vette says cheerfully. “I can fuck with their security long enough. Besides, I think I’ve got it. It’s thirty credits for two people to Dromund Kaas, but only _ten_ to head to Ord Radama on a cargo freighter, and then from there we can sweet talk our way onto a shuttle to the orbital station nearby and _then_ there’s a massive Imperial ship called _Black Talon_ leaving for Dromund Kaas that says they’re taking any Imps who can work for passage. Which we can. I’m assuming.”

Gimrizh blinks.

“Good, right? I know I’m good.”

“Yes. Sure. Okay.” She holds up a hand, “But we have _no_ money, _at all_. How are we going to get ten credits?”

Vette sticks her tongue out thoughtfully and digs into her pockets. She retrieves a handful of credit chips, one jeweled bracelet, and an Academy security pass. “I’ve got eleven credits. We can even pick up a cheap can of soda from a vending machine on Ord Radama if we’re feeling fancy.”

“How did you get those?”

“Do you want the truth, or would you settle for a convincing lie?”

“Nevermind.”

~*~

One month, one truly ridiculous space battle, two short conversations with Grand Moff Kilran that left Gimrizh starry-eyed for hours, and a seemingly unending series of boring paperwork applications later, Vette stands outside Baras's chambers in Kaas City, feeling like a soggy out of place decoration.

Stern looking men and women in robes pass by, the vast majority human or purebloods. Some give her glares as they glide menacingly past her, or alternatively, pointedly turn their heads as though to prove to her that she is utterly beneath their notice and they simply can't bear to be forced to look at her for longer than necessary. The other half of them pay her about as much attention as they would a light fixture - which is to say, none at all. What a bunch of snobs.

It's not like blatant speciesism is something new coming from Sith, and she's determined not to let it get to her.

Either way, being out here is far better than being back inside Baras's offices. Snobby Sith or not, nothing is making Vette go back in there. Not with that poor man screaming his head off.

A feeling of gratitude fills her, directed towards her surprising new master - or friend? Colleague?

Associate?

Vette isn't sure anymore.

But still, Gimrizh had let her leave the room as soon as the torture started. Thank the stars, every second of watching Baras pump that poor Republic spy full of lightning had been enough to to make Vette want to throw up.

She tries to wipe the rain off her lekku, with mixed success. All that really happens is a lot more rain gets on her clothes - clothes that Gimrizh bought her. Another mystery. Vette hadn't even asked, clothing hasn't been high on her priority list lately. But once they had arrived in Kaas City things had changed. Gimrizh had gotten her apprenticeship paperwork sorted out, they’d gotten her first paycheck and then... she had just given Vette money and told her to buy clothes and any additional weapons.

Which was really weird. Because even though it's been awhile since Vette has been a slave, it's not something she can ever forget. And slave owners do not take care to ensure that their slaves have warm clothes and they absolutely don't just _give_ slaves money for things. They certainly don't encourage slaves to arm themselves. Vette didn't test it, but she's pretty sure if she had spent hours walking around the markets and returned without any money, having only bought antique holos of old operas, Gimrizh wouldn't have done anything.

Hells, Gimrizh hasn't even used the shock collar _once_. Not even during that disaster on _Black Talon_ \- which, for the record, had eventually worked out and was _not_ her fault.

It's like Gimrizh keeps forgetting Vette's a slave.

Which is again, really weird. Sure, the fact that Gimrizh is a Zabrak, not a human and therefore less likely to buy into all that sub-human garbage has to be a factor. But it can't account for everything and she's _still_ a Sith. Vette's seen her kill, seen her throw a Jedi padawan into a wall hard enough that the girl didn't get back up again. And she has yellow eyes. Vette's about ninety-nine percent certain yellow eyes - especially on Zabraks - are a Sith thing.

It's just that every Sith Vette's encountered - admittedly a small number - have treated her like shit. And Gimrizh hasn't.

"Vette."

Vette snaps to attention as Gimrizh walks up to her. "What's Baras making you do now?"

"He has sent me to fetch the Ravager," the Zabrak explains, already walking towards the Citadel exit, "It's supposed to be in an ancient Sith temple on Drumond Kaas, on Mognosk, a relatively deserted continent. We'll have to take a speeder to a reclamation site closer to the temple and go the rest of the way on foot."

Well that sounds utterly miserable. "Great, my cold will catch a cold," and Vette has just started drying out too, what a shame. “What’s this temple thing?”

“The Dark Temple,” Gimrizh tells her and oh great, that’s so much information to go off of because Vette totally knows so much about the Empire.

Vette rolls her eyes. “Yeah okay, so Sith suck at naming things.”

“It’s _actually_ called Sajudzaioch -”

“I’m not going to try and pronounce that. What is the ‘Dark Temple’?”

“Mostly old and dangerous.”

“Uh. What’s so dangerous about a temple? I mean, besides a lack of structural integrity and the occasional falling chunk of rubble?”

“It was built thousands of years ago, during the Old Empire, and used as a Sith burial ground. But after the Great Hyperspace War, our Emperor started using it as a place to store both powerful Sith artifacts and his enemies' corpses. The echoes of the dark side are... powerful. Capable of possessing those without the protection of the force or with particularly weak minds.”

“...And you’re going _in_ there?”

“I need the Ravager, and the Ravager is inside the Dark Temple. I’m on your side in this Vette, and I wouldn’t go in there if I didn’t have to.”

"What _is_ this Ravager thing Baras needs? It doesn't sound very nice."

Gimrizh shakes her head. "No, I suppose it isn’t. It's a torture device. Grik Sinoson has thus far resisted Baras's methods of interrogation. More pressure is needed to make him break."

“Poor guy,” Vette shudders, "Baras is _crazy_ , I only saw a few minutes of that but-”

"Be silent," Gimrizh hastily snaps at her, her eyes widening ever so slightly, "He is a spy against the Empire and deserves any punishment Lord Baras gives him."

"Wha-?" That's probably the first time Gimrizh has ever showed anger towards her. Also when did Baras become Lord Baras? And hells, Vette's said more anti-Imperial things before and Gimrizh had barely so much as batted an eye.

"Where are we, Vette?" Gimrizh whispers to her, "Look around you."

Oh right, Citadel full of Sith. "Okay I see your point," she concedes. And it's actually a pretty good point. Vette knows all too well what it's like to piss off Sith - lots of pain, some screaming, a surprisingly large amount of electricity, “But I thought… I mean....” she lowers her voice and leans her head closer the Zabrak, “You don’t like him either, right?”

Half his personality seems to be made of torture. The other half is probably made of beheading or murdering or something equally unpleasant.  

Gimrizh apparently ignores her question and steps out into the rain to hail a passing taxi speeder. “Once the Ravager is in Baras’ hands,” she says, “He’s sure to be quite busy extracting information from Sinoson and then even busier acting on it. I’m certain that once he’s thoroughly occupied we’ll have a few hours of free time.”

Well that’s a complete non-sequitur. Although never let it be said that Vette doesn’t appreciate the value of vacation time. “Great, I’ll throw a party?”

Gimrizh gives her a look that clearly states she’s missed a key point in the conversation. “How about I buy you a drink instead?”

What does- oh. Right. Vette gets it. “In a noisy, crowded cantina? Full of wandering law breakers, without a Sith lord in sight?”

“There are no law breakers in Kaas City - and I wouldn't allow myself to be seen in a cantina that catered to them, but yes. A loud bar, no way of being overheard.”

“Sounds absolutely wonderful.”

A speeder pulls up to the platform and the pilot droid steps out to hold the door open for Gimrizh, enquiring about her destination in a measured polite voice. It’s a covered speeder, at least. Vette’s seen a large number of open cockpit models on Drumond Kaas already and the idea of those being popular boggles her mind. Why would anyone want to get more wet than they already do simply by existing on this planet?

“Then I’ll meet up with you when I get back,” Gimrizh says dismissively, stepping into the speeder, “Try to be careful.”

As careful as she can be on Imperial Center. Even though it’s filled to the brim with soldiers and officers, there’s still a lot of danger on this planet. Case in point, this temple thing filled with _evil ghosts that possess people_. Which Gimrizh, the crazy maniac, is about to throw herself right into on a quest to retrieve an ancient torture device.

How is this suddenly Vette’s life? Sure, she did a lot of crazy shit during her stint as a pirate, but piracy involves a lot more shooting than lightsabers. And it certainly has a lot fewer evil ghosts.

The pilot droid is about to close the speeder door. What a miserable trip that’ll be. Being stuck in the rain, and having to walk all the way to an insane temple. A chill runs down her spine at the thought.

Oh hells.

“Wait!” Vette cries, rushing out into the pouring rain after Gimrizh, “I’m going with you!”

Gimrizh puts her boot between the cab and the closing door. "I thought you would prefer to remain away?"

Does she ever. Vette's going as crazy as the Sith. "Ugh. Just let me in before I change my mind."

~*~

The Ravager is a success.

To be honest, Gimrizh has been almost hoping that it wouldn't work. Of course, those thoughts are treason. She stuffs the feelings away hurriedly - if Baras got the barest whiff of treason her head would join Vemrin's. Instead she hands over the device and watches without interference as the spy starts to divulge all the information that he had previously been so good at keeping secret. His words come out in pants and whispers, punctuated by screams and Gimrizh is glad Vette doesn't have to see this.

The information is dim. A new apprentice who can read people's intent? Being taught by Nomen Karr, Baras' most hated rival? It doesn't bode well for his extensive spy network and it doesn't bode well for Gimrizh.

Baras barks out his orders and she hurries out of his chambers, grateful not to be the object of his wrath this time.

Besides, she has promised Vette a drink and an explanation and only one of those sounds appealing.

The Twi'lek is waiting in the Citadel's central chamber, a huge huge hexagonal tube, crisscrossed with platforms and multilevel walkways that lead to the multitudinous offices and libraries and laboratories that the Sith Order demands. It's a beautiful place, and Gimrizh can feel the ebb and flow of the dark side here, like an undercurrent in the air. It's a side effect of both the strong dark presence on Dromund Kaas and the over abundance of powerful Sith Lords who have chosen to make this place their permanent dwelling.

"Thank hells you're finally done," Vette sighs with relief. "This place is awful. If it’s supposed to be an educational center, all it really teaches you is how to be bored and terrified at the same time."

But, for better or worse, Vette isn’t force sensitive in the slightest and thus has no idea what this place feels like.

“We have a new lead,” Gimrizh tells her, “We have to be at hangar bay B1-9 before the end of the day. We’re being sent to Balmorra.”

Vette crosses her arms with a huff, “Great. More work.”

“But first, we do have time for that drink.”

“ _Now_ you’re speaking my language.”

There aren't a large number of cantinas in Kaas City, not of the sort Gimrizh is looking for. Considering that they're in the heart of the Empire, there's a lot of officers' bars and enlisted-personnel-only dives. Quite a number of cantinas that cater specifically to bounty hunters or the Mandalorians, given how much traffic Kaas City sees from them. Obviously those don't work- any place where they will look _out_ of place is off the list. Kaas might be the largest Imperial city off Ziost and it's easy enough to vanish here, but she won't kid herself by thinking that there aren't spies in the city - a good portion of which report back to Baras.

Eventually she and Vette find their way to a broad service cantina, the Nexus Room.

They find a small corner table in the back, away from the crowded bar but still covered up by a cacophony of other noises. The place is filled to the brim with assorted characters - no other Sith, fortunately - a couple bounty hunters, a speeder racing gang comprised of teenagers, a smattering of off duty troopers. While Vette grabs them both drinks, Gimrizh quickly checks the table for listening devices.

Vette practically throws herself at her chair and sprawls out luxuriously. She pushes a large pink colored drink towards Gimrizh and takes a hearty sip of her own drink- something amber colored and fragrant.

“Got you a Ryloth Sunset,” she says with a grin, “And lemmie tell you, it tastes like how a Ryloth sunset looks.”

Hesitantly, Gimrizh indulges in the alcoholic concoction. “It’s… fruity?” she guesses.

“Yeah that'd be the fruit. It's got that, tihaar, and something Corellian. Corellian bitters maybe? I’m not actually sure.” Vette frowns, “You’re not really an alcohol sort of girl, are you?”

“No,” Gimrizh takes another sip. It’s actually not bad, once she gets past the way it sort of burns her throat. “Never drank before.”

Vette gapes. “Really?! You’re kidding! You’ve _never_ had a drink before?”

“I’m not sure if you noticed Vette, but Korriban isn’t exactly a vacation.”

“Yeah, but come on? You can’t have spent all your time on that planet.”

And as usual Vette is taking this conversation in the wrong direction. Gimrizh drags her finger over the rim of her glass and gives Vette a teasing look. “And I thought we were here because you had a number of burning questions concerning Baras? Of course, if you want to spend that time discussing how many drinks I’ve never had I’m sure we can change our plans for the evening.”

Extreme conflict marrs Vette’s face for a minute while she thoroughly considers both of the promising options. “...Fine. I’ll get you drunk later.”

“As I thought.”

Vette sets her glass down on the table and levels Gimrizh with a frank sort of look, “So. Baras. I’ll be honest here, I don’t get what’s up with you and him at all.”

Gimrizh snorts into her drink. Frankly, she barely gets it herself and it's actually _happening_ to her. “You’ll have to be a little more specific.”

“So he’s a rude asshole,” Vette starts out. “When you add that with his awful personality and general torturing habits, he ends up being a pretty shitty sort of guy. I personally am not overly fond of him. And to be honest, I thought you hated him too.”

Well she’s not actually wrong about any of those points. “He’s my master,” Gimrizh reminds her. “He provides me with money and security, as well as instructs me in the ways of the Sith - how else do you think I’m going to pay our tab? Why should I hate him?”

Vette huffs and manages to look surprisingly stern. “Don’t try and bullshit me, okay? I can’t deny all that stuff about money and whatever, cause I don’t actually know who specifically in the Empire pays you and for what - that paperwork was _so_ boring, I tuned half of it out. But as far as I’ve seen? He barely teaches you anything and treats you like a servant instead of an apprentice. He’s had you running all over Dromund Kaas since the moment we got here, going to some really awful, really _dangerous_ places. Hells, he’s sending you to Balmorra! A krething war zone! And then he can hardly muster the energy to be grateful for all the times you risk your neck for him?”

“He’s my _master_ , Vette.” Gimrizh stresses.

“Yeah so?” Vette demands, crossing her arms.

She isn’t sure how best to explain it. Vette didn’t grow up on Korriban, she doesn’t know the Sith, she hasn’t seen the cruelty of the Institute Overseers or the mercilessness of the dark lords that treat the Academy like their own apprentice hunting ground. She hasn’t heard the stories of hundreds of acolytes dying over the years, not for lack of skill but because they hadn’t the luck or connections to win an apprenticeship quickly, and instead were assigned more menial, increasingly dangerous tasks in the harsh tomb-filled wilderness of Korriban, year after year while waiting for a deployment.

Gimrizh stares absently at the shimmery pink liquid in her hands, as though it will reveal the proper order to string her words together. “I am very, _very_ lucky to have a master at all,” she finally says, “For the acolytes who manage to pass their trials and become Sith, there are four paths that they can take. They can stay on Korriban until an opportunity for them to go off world arises - often in the form of an immediate deployment to wherever the Empire most needs fighters. They can serve as an apprentice under a less experienced lord, who might have a dozen other students. Some remain on Korriban to pursue a position that requires higher education - anything in the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge, for example. But very few are taken on as apprentices by powerful lords, like Baras. Hate him or not, he _is_ powerful.”

“So you’re a one in a million kinda Sith, huh?” Vette asks, “But doesn’t Baras have other apprentices too? Besides you?”

She nods. “Yes. More than most lords in his position actually. He treats his apprentices much like extensions of his spy network. From what I’ve seen and heard at least, I’m one of only two apprentices he has who fulfil combat roles. Only he knows where all of them are, and even his apprentices who have moved on from his tutelage still work for him.”

Vette still doesn’t seem to quite get it. “Wouldn’t you be better as an apprentice to someone who gave more of a damn about you? Baras can’t be your only option.”

“You don’t know what other Sith Lords are like,” Gimrizh says, running her fingers through her short hair, “Many of them only take an apprentice for a year - toss that apprentice a promotion, and then start again. I’d have nowhere to go but straight to the front lines after something like that.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad. At least you’d be free.”

Freedom isn’t - it’s not a possibility for Gimrizh. That’s not freedom, it’s a death trap. She knows Vette’s mind is probably imagining some grand escape plan, going AWOL and taking a bar hopping tour of the galaxy. “No. I’d be captured or killed by a Jedi - I’d still be far too inexperienced. Most Sith spend two years or more in the Academy, and I _already_ skipped my final year at Institute Five. I’m on the lowest skill rung for Sith.”

“Okay,” Vette admits, grimacing, “Capture doesn’t sound great. That’s why you don’t care that he treats you like something stuck on the bottom of his shoe? I’m sure there’s _got_ to be better masters for you to learn from?”

If only it were that simple, “No. For… reasons not my own, I was pushed to take the trials and enter the Academy a year before I was supposed to. I was thrown in Baras’s path and my only choices were to obey or let him run me down. If I hadn’t been pushed up, I could potentially abandon my apprenticeship and attempt to find another master, although even then my chances would be slim because I'm a Zabrak. But because of my history, I’m in a sink or swim position. No other Lord would take on a Sith who was pushed up and then washed out. He knew that when he took me as an apprentice, and as a result, I know a good deal of his secrets because he knows that I'm trapped with him. If I left? Baras would _destroy_ me.”

“Define destroy?” There’s a preemptive cringe on Vette’s face as she asks the question.

She’d be denounced as a conman and fraud first. She’s run through these possible outcomes in her head before, over and over. All the things she’s tried to hide over the years - everything on Institute Five - everything would come to light. He’d paint her as a traitor to the Empire and as a monster to the Republic so that no one would believe the truths about him. Sith would be out for her blood, and if for some miraculous reason she survives the worst that angry Sith can throw at her? She’d vanish into the night and end up on a slab for Baras to play with before _disposal_ , just like that Republic agent.

Vette doesn’t need to hear all the potentially-gory details. “Remember how Vemrin’s head became forcefully unacquainted with his body?”

Silence reigns over their table after her little speech. The loud raucous noise of the cantina seems faded even as it booms in their ears.

Vette drains her glass. “Well, that explains some things.”

“I obey him without question. I bow to him so that I can survive. I do what he tells me so that I can live another day.” Gimrizh tells her with complete honesty. "If I've learned anything of Baras's nature during the short time serving him, it's that he is both ruthless enough to punish even the slightest failure with the death penalty, and that he is situated well enough to get away with it."

Baras is too dangerous for her to cross, even in the slightest way. If he ever gets the idea that she is anything but utterly subservient to him then she will suddenly drop in value.

“So that’s why you’re so stiff when you talk to him,” Vette muses. “You act like you’re made of wood you know, all you do is say ‘yes master’ and stand there emotionlessly. It’s really damn weird.”

That’s by design. It’s nice to know it’s working on Vette at least. “I don’t want him to know anything about me,” she tells Vette, “not my personality, not my habits, not even how I regularly talk.”

Vette nods slowly in agreement. “I get it.”

“Really?” Gimrizh asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, I mean, obviously I don’t get anything to do with the force,” Vette says. “But don't forget, I’ve been a slave for a long time. Hell, I was _born_ a slave.”

Of course. Gimrizh has been fortunate in that her life, as far as she knows, has never involved slavery - Vette was dealt a much worse hand in life. “I’m sorry.”

Vette tries to nonchalantly shrug it off, but her relaxed posture slips and she seems to shrink into herself. “My point is - I can relate. I get what you’re going through with Baras. I had to do a lot of things I hated, and I had to pretend I liked them sometimes. Talking back to an owner gets you in a world of pain, especially when you’re owned by crime lords like I was. Trying to escape ain’t worth it either. So yeah, I kinda get it. Sometimes you can’t try and get out. Sometimes all you can do is survive.”

“I’m so sorry,” Gimrizh says quietly. “How did you get out of that?”

A small smirk slips back onto Vette’s face. It must be a happier memory for her. “Pirates, actually. But enough about me. I think I’m going to get a Corellian whiskey and then we need to head to that whatever docking bay’s taking us to Balmorra.”

“Hangar bay B1-9,” Gimrizh reminds her.

“Yeah that.”

Vette hastily gets up and heads over to the bar for a refill. Alone, Gimrizh deflates. She doesn’t want to be stuck serving Baras forever but she can’t just leave. Her only hope is for someone to eventually take out Baras and leave her free to run away and find a nicer corner of the Empire where she can spend her days in service.

Trying to imitate what she’s seen Vette do, Gimrizh throws her drink back and empties the whole glass.

And then promptly almost throws up. Oh _hells_ that’s awful. She’s never copying Vette again. Out of desire to stop smelling alcohol, she tosses a few of her new credit chips onto the table, signals the bartender, and then leaves.

Outside in the cold, damp air of Kaas City, her head clears. She checks her chrono. Nine hours till they depart for Balmorra - what sort of hyperdrive will her ship have? A week, perhaps, till they arrive. A full week in hyperspace, with nothing but the cold and beautiful stars around them - no Overseers, no Baras, no classes to attend, or tests to take, and no trials. A week of doing what _she_ wants for once. It sounds so idyllic she can hardly believe it’s real.

She fishes out her holocom and pulls up the frequency for her contact on Balmorra.

A mere second after she’s placed the call, someone picks up, and she’s greeted by a sharp looking officer. It’s hard to tell over the blue holo field, but something about his appearance strikes her as so meticulous that he could have walked off the front of an officers academy recruitment poster.

He blinks at her, confused and surprised as he takes in her appearance, and then tentatively asks, “Ah, you must be Lord Baras’s apprentice?”

“Yes - sorry, I’m not sure if my master contacted you already.” She clears her throat. This is her first real mission working with someone besides Vette, she needs to make a good impression. “I am Gimrizh Korribanil, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I was told you are to be my contact for my operation on Balmorra?”

“That’s correct, my lord.”

_My lord_ ? Why is he - but she _isn’t_ a Lord of the Sith, not yet and probably not for a good many years. He probably outranks her, she’s just barely an apprentice, and even though she works directly under Baras, it’s not as though title transfers from her master to her.

“I’m Lieutenant Malavai Quinn,” he continues before pausing to type something into a computer terminal she can’t see. “Our communication channel is now secure, my lord. I’m sorry I’m not better prepared for your call, I only just received Lord Baras’s dossier,” he informs her, somewhat nervously, as though he’s rather flustered. “I regret to say I haven’t been able to read it yet, but I shall rectify that mistake as soon as possible, I assure you.”

“Oh, that’s quite alright. I can call back at a later time if this is inconvenient for you?”

He stares at her, his lips ever so slightly parted, as though trying to figure out if this is some sort of trap. “No,” he says after a moment’s deliberation. “No, my lord, as your contact I am at your disposal whenever is most convenient for _you_.”

Stars, she must sound like an idiot novice. “I see? Anyway, I was calling to inquire about what I should bring with me to Balmorra. I haven’t been given much information about my mission beyond which of my master’s spies I will be tracking, and I am not sure if there’s anything in particular that I would require. Also, I wanted to give you a heads up that I intend to depart Kaas City in nine standard hours, so I should arrive on Balmorra in just over a week.”

“Thank you,” he says, surprised, “The advance notice is appreciated. I’m sending you a file on Balmorra - it should make the situation clear. Please let me know if there are any additional preparations you would like me to make for your arrival.”

Sure enough, a datafile pops up on her holo screen. She opens it and quickly scans through the blocks of text. Most of it, the issues with Republic funded rebels at least, is familiar to her, although the scale of it seems quite different from what she remembers. The climate information is similarly new. “Forty-eight hour days?” She gapes at that line. “Oh _fuck_. I’m going to need a ridiculous amount of caf to get through that.”

His eyes widen ever so slightly at her levity, and then a small, almost-smile slips through his professionalism. “Personally, I’d recommend caffeine supplements.”

Now that’s an _excellent_ idea. “I’ll take you up on that.”

“I’ll have some caf prepared for you upon your arrival then, shall I?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you so much.” She glances again at that horrid ‘forty-eight hour’ sentence, as though she can will it out of existence by glaring. “Oh - it’s - er, it’s the middle of the night for you, isn’t it? Shit, I’m so sorry - Ah - go back to bed.”

“... As you command?”

“I mean not if you don’t want to - I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Now that she looks, she can see faint dark circles under his eyes. “You didn’t. Lord Baras’s report woke me half an hour ago. And there is really no need to apologize, my lord.”

“Still.” Her free hand nervously fiddles with the hem of her sleeve. “I’ll let you get back to sleep. Unless there’s anything you need from me?”

“... No, my lord,” Quinn replies. “I look forward to working with you.”

She lets the holo blink out and then sighs, her head tipping back to rest against the rain-slick cantina wall.

~*~

"Oh my stars!" Vette squeals with uninhibited glee as she runs her eyes over every inch of the gleaming new ship. "We're traveling in style now! Let's see what she looks like inside!"

It's truly a beautiful ship. The design is sleek without incorporating the roundness of most Republic made vessels. It’s angular and streamlined, with a stunning black durasteel finish and chrome detailing. The gangplank folds elegantly down from the transom, leading towards the main hatch in a tantalizing sort of manner, as if practically begging the two of them to enter and take full advantage of the speed and maneuverability promised by the sleek design.

Gimrizh pins it as an Imperial Interceptor, although she is unsure exactly which classification it is. It's probably a newer model, one she's less familiar with. She _hopes_ it’s a newer model. If it’s been around for ages, she’ll have to kick herself for never noticing it before.

And then all of a sudden Vette's grabbing her hand and dragging her up the gangplank, “Come on, come on! I want to see every inch of this place!”

Gim freezes up at the entirely unexpected physical contact, too surprised to say or do anything other than obediently follow Vette inside the ship’s hull.

The ship’s interior is equally stunning, decorated with the same luxurious taste that most Imperial vessels share. Their boots click sharply on the polished deck and the sound resonates throughout, echoing down the hall.

Gimrizh enters the bridge. The bridge is in the forward center of the ship, flanked on both sides by jutting out sections of the prow. There are two stations to control the ship’s blastercanons, and three seats, pilot, co-pilot, and whoever’s at the helm. That will be her, she supposes. Strange to think of herself commanding a ship when only a month or so ago she was merely an acolyte on Korriban.

But the best part of the ship isn’t the glowing holo of the galaxy or the sparklingly clean navigation consoles. The best part is the huge viewport that looks out onto the hangar bay. She can’t wait to get the first glimpse of the stars through the plexiglass.

She takes a seat and starts investigating the holo map, letting her hand run across the smooth durasteel, imagining what the faint hum of the engines will feel like once the ship powers up. With a flick of a switch, she turns the central power supply on, and the lights inside whirr to life, bathing the interior in a warm white glow. As if welcoming her, the computer terminal opens the holo input field and runs through a start-up sequence.

“This is _Fury_ model Interceptor,” Gimrizh realizes. Of course she never noticed it before, she’s always dreamed of owning one of them, it had simply seemed so impossible that she ever _would_. “They’re top of the line for Sith - I’ve never seen one in person. Grand Moff Kilran helped design them, they’re the best in both maneuverability and firepower when it comes to anything larger than a gunship.” A blank name designation field catches her eyes. “It’s unnamed. This must be the newest possible model - _brand_ new.”

Vette cheers, “Yes! I’ve always wanted to name a ship!”

Gimrizh coughs lightly, "Our ship, Vette."

“But I wanna name a ship,” Vette pouts, “Fine. I’ll just go find my quarters and sufficiently trash them.”

“Be on the bridge in half an hour,” Gimrizh reminds her, “We need to head to Balmorra and I need a co-pilot.” Or an _actual_ pilot. She’s never flown anything before, and her flight simulation scores have always been rather pitifully low.

Vette just waves it off, “Yeah yeah, boss.”

Beneath Gimrizh’s fingers, a dozen switchboards and buttons and levers beg for attention, teasing her into wanting to try every single function of the ship. She forces herself to do one thing at a time and simply powers up the sublight drive.

The sooner she’s out into space, the happier she will be.


	2. Bitter Work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go to Balmorra, aka: watch me write an entire planet arc in one chapter and suffer for it  
> As of 4/16/18 this chapter, and all others following, have not yet been rewritten. Expect inconsistencies (rewritten chapters will hopefully be posted about one per week, so you should not have to wait too long for the next one)

They touch down on Balmorra around mid-morning.

The pink tinge in the orange of the rising sun on the horizon shines brightly through the bridge viewport as Vette maneuvers the ship in to land at the Sobrik spaceport.

“Wow,” Vette groans, looking around the city. They’ve been making their way around the city on foot, instead of by speeder, so as to attract less attention. “This place is dismally bleak. And I’ve been on _Korriban_.”

It’s not exactly an incorrect statement, Gimrizh has to admit. Sobrik has the solemn, rigid architecture style that marks many Imperial cities, but without the stunning majesty of Dromund Kaas or even the occasionally picturesque harshness that marrs Korriban. Instead, Sobrik just looks dull and depressing. Smoke from bombings is visible over the rooftops, and heavy duty anti-spacecraft cannons are mounted to every other building. The picture it paints isn't one of Imperial splendor. It just looks like the last place standing in a planet that’s already been bombed to hells and back.

Even the people that mill about seem constantly worried, and there are few civilians visible. More common are squads of troopers or officers. The population is almost entirely human too, and some of the military personnel they pass give the two of them cold looks.

Vette throws one of the officers a glare. “Ugh. Are we there yet?”

Gimrizh checks the address of the office in front of them, “Actually, yes.”

"Really?"

"Vette, please."

Gimrizh opens the door only to be almost run over by a nervous ensign rushing out.

"Watch yourself!" She snaps, straightening up and brushing herself off. Really. She knows she doesn't look important but that's no reason to just run into her.

The ensign just gives her a dirty look before running off - apparently he either has urgent business or really wants to leave the office they've just arrived in.

"Rude," Vette mutters as they step through the foyer and into the main office.

Inside, a sharp looking officer greets them with far more politeness than the ensign. The first thing she notices is that he's taller than Gimrizh is by quite a few inches, although she supposes most people are, she's long since given up on the hope off an incredibly delayed growth spurt. The second thing she notices is that he almost looks cold - his hair is so dark there's almost a blue shine to it and he's even paler than everyone else on this gloomy planet seems to be. 

“My lord,” he says, bowing to Gimrizh without the slightest hesitation, “I’m Lieutenant Malavai Quinn, your contact on Balmorra. It’s my honor to have you here on this mission.”

Well he’s certainly a lot nicer than anyone else she’s ran into on this planet. And he clearly knows who she is by sight alone, which fortunately allows for limited introductions. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant. I'm Gimrizh - although I imagine you were prepared for my arrival.” she replies, trying to be just as courteous to him as he is to her. “I understand that I am here for Darth Baras’ spy, Commander Rylon?”

“I should let Lord Baras explain,” Quinn deflects the question, apparently not wanting to directly issue her orders. Or out of a desire not to learn too many of Baras’s secrets, which Gimrizh can understand completely. Her master is not one to be messed with. “Now that you’ve arrived, he can brief you himself via holo.”

“Of course,” she agrees, “Let’s begin right away.”

He complies, and the holo flickers on, Baras’ towering figure stepping into glowing blue sight.

“Apprentice,” He greets. Even the sound of his voice is enough to make Gimrizh’s usual fear and paranoia spike, “I am glad to see that you have arrived on Balmorra safely. We have much work to accomplish here, and a limited time frame to do it in. I have just received news that Nomen Karr has sent an investigator to provide evidence of my spy’s work here.”

Gimrizh, head bowed respectfully, asks, “What is my first move, my lord?”

“Lieutenant,” Baras orders, “Leave us while I speak to my apprentice.”

Quinn nods, “I will wait outside, my lord.”

With a meaningful glance from Gimrizh, Vette moodily stomps out after the officer.

Once they’ve left, Baras turns back to Gimrizh, “Quinn owes his career to me, but it’s best to keep this between the two of us.”

~*~

Vette leans against the office wall and huffs. She’s overheard way more sensitive conversations before honestly, and this is the first time she’s actually been kicked out of a meeting between Gimrizh and his pudginess Baras. Those times with the torturing on Drumond Kaas don’t count, as she hadn’t wanted to be there to begin with. But now that she actually wants to know what’s going on and what she’s going to have to be doing, she gets kicked out. So unfair!

At least the stuffy officer got booted out of the room too.

Man, it must be boring as hells working on a planet like Balmorra. The officer, what’s his name? Quinn, yeah that. Anyway, Quinn’s busy fussing with some datapad and apparently ignoring her. He wouldn't be the first to think her inconsequential. By all appearances Vette is nothing more than a slave, someone to follow the oh-so-esteemed Gimrizh around and maybe hold her things or fetch her drinks. But Vette's _not_ a luxury slave or a damn maid.

"So," she says to the officer, "what's it like working for Baras? Does it make this planet more or less boring?"

He looks so surprised that she's addressing him. It's almost funny. But at least he seems to recover from the shock of a slave daring to speak to him pretty quick. "My work for Lord Baras is classified."

"Yeah I thought so," Vette mutters, choosing to interpret his comment differently, if only so as to continue some semblance of conversation. "I don't think _anyone_ , Sith Lord or no, could make this planet not a total pain in the ass."

"I don't think we've been introduced?" He asks, managing to make it more of a question than a demand.

She sticks out her hand, "Name's Vette. I work for her Sithy-ness."

With some noticeable hesitation, he lowers the - probably very dull - datapad and shakes her hand, "Does Lord Gimrizh allow you to address her as such?"

"Eh," Vette shrugs. She's called Gimrizh sillier things to her face, and called Baras ruder things too. It's never seemed to matter before. Gimrizh's discussion about maintaining appearances in public flutters through Vette's thoughts before she tosses it out. A sanctum full of sith? Sure, danger. One lieutenant? Nah. "Yeah. We're cool."

He doesn't seem convinced, "I hardly think you should refer to your superiors with such blatant disrespect."

"Okay, first of all," Vette begins, because she can _so_ see exactly what he's thinking, "I am _not_ some stupid luxury slave. I know I look it, and I know you're thinking it, but I’m not. Just for the record. And second, Gimrizh doesn't give a damn what I call her. In case you haven't noticed, she's not exactly human _either_ , so she's _not_ my superior."

Quinn looks rather taken aback by her sudden outburst. Good. If both of them are going to be stuck working for Gimrizh, at least on this planet, then he better get used to the way things work around here.

"I _had_ noticed," he says after a pause, looking haughty, "Actually. And for that matter, I was referring to her rank, _not_ her _species._ ”

Sounds like someone’s upset with the idea of answering to a sub-species. Vette _knew_ it. All Imperials are the same that way, they all have this stupid irrational hatred of other species. Despite the complete hypocrisy of the Sith Order that allows them to train as many people of alien races as they want, Imperial Command doesn’t allow anyone who’s not human or Sith pureblood to join. Or occasionally, Chiss.

The door suddenly slides open and Gimrizh steps out, looking as drained as she normally does after speaking with Baras.

“So, what’ve we got?” Vette quips.

Gimrizh runs a hand through her hair with a sigh, “There’s a satellite control tower in the Marakan Plains that contains evidence of Rylon’s work. He sabotaged Balmorran defences before the Imperial invasion, but was shortsighted enough not to cover his tracks. Our first mission is to remove the data. Lieutenant, I will need enough explosives to completely destroy the mainframe computer.”

Quinn is already back to fiddling with the datapad, “I can provide you with a T-4 bomb that you can rig in the computer and that can be remotely detonated. And in the time it will take you to arrive, I’ll have sliced into the tower’s schematics to keep ahead of any potential threats. I will do what I can to ensure your safety to the best of my abilities.”

“You’re still tracking the Republic investigator, yes?” Gimrizh asks, “Can you do all that and still make sure they don’t slip past us?”

“Of course, my lord.” He tells her, a faint, barely noticeable echo of pride in his voice that makes Vette glower.

Vette rolls her eyes - she really doesn't like the guy. “Great. A war zone. Just where I wanted to spend my evening. Can’t we leave in the morning?”

“If you want to be the one to explain why we let a Republic investigator retrieve the data to Darth Baras,” Gimrizh tells her.

Wow she drives a hard bargain. “You know on second thought, just give me a cup of caff and I’ll be ready to head out.”

A tiny smile tugs at the corners of Gimrizh’s lips. “As I thought. Lieutenant, there’s no time to waste. Once you set me up with that bomb, we’ll attack the tower.”

~*~

Malavai Quinn has worked for Lord Baras for many years now, long years of being stuck on Balmorra and slowly completing menial tasks that barely do anything to aide the Empire’s constant struggle for the planet. Most of his work for Baras has revolved around merely keeping an eye out and reporting the occasional tidbit of information. Nothing that would be considered controversial, just every so often, doing something for the betterment of the Empire.

It's a relief to know that, even stuck on a rock like Balmorra and kept away from any meaningful operations, there is still something he can do to serve the Empire.

Although he’s spent quite a while dealing with Sith, he’s rarely had the chance to actually work with one in the field. True, he’s _not exactly_ in the field, he’s sitting at a terminal back in Sobrik tracking both the Republic investigator and Baras’s new apprentice.

A holo map blinks the swiftly moving position of the Zabrak - the apprentice Gimrizh, that is. It's rude to refer to her so clinically, even in his own head. She and the Twi’lek are closing in on the satellite control tower. Malavai pulls up the camera readings from the tower, letting the split-screen footage dominate a large portion of the terminal. Going by the apprentice’s current path, she should be breaching the facility from the west entrance.

A few seconds later, and the cams flicker as the west door’s lock melts under the glow of a red lightsaber beam.

The apprentice strides into the building, followed closely by the Twi'lek.

An alarm starts to blink, silent on Malavai’s screens but probably horribly loud at the tower. Two screens over, a squad of defense droids activate.

The Twi’lek yells something, and then aims both her blasters at the alarm and shoots it out. The red light goes dim with a shower of sparks. A few feet away from their position, another alarm starts caterwauling instead. The Twi’lek groans dramatically and gestures to the alarm with a look of ‘can you believe this?!’. Gimrizh merely rolls her eyes and keeps moving down the corridor, a hint of nervousness in her footsteps - likely a result of being found so soon.

That’s when the droids reach their position.

The droid’s are wielding heavy blasters that are patched into their individual power cores - Malavai’s tried to slice their network but to get the droids offline, but he’d have to shut down the entire grid. And then he’d be unable to track the apprentice’s movements or know when to remote detonate the T-4 explosives.

Blaster bolts light up the cameras as the droids begin to fire.

Right away the Twi’lek drops to the ground and crouches behind a metal crate, firing her blasters from behind safe cover. Her first shot pegs a droid in it’s eyepiece and the second two blow out it’s knee joints.

Grudgingly, he has to admit she’s a decent shot - which is rather surprising to see in such an undisciplined sort of person. Malavai prides himself in his aim, but it took practice, long hard hours at a shooting range. The Twi'lek doesn't seem to have the temperament to stomach that sort of thing.

The apprentice, to his intrigue, barely seems to notice the blaster fire. Her lightsaber brushes the bolts off easily in a blur of red, as if she’s simply flicking them out of the way instead of dodging injury. Despite the heavy fire, she keeps advancing with an admirable determination.

With a whirling slash of her lightsaber, Gimrizh cuts the two nearest droids in half. A flick of her wrist sends another droid careening into the wall where the Twi’lek blasts it to destruction.

She twirls around with such elegance that it almost takes Malavai's breath away - she chops a droid’s head off, then snaps her leg out to kick one towards its fellow. While both droids are tumbling, she finishes them off with an overhand strike that reduces them to sparking piles of rubble.

One final burst of bolts from the Twi’lek takes down the last droid.

Gimrizh deactivates her saber but keeps it up and at the ready, calling something out to the Twi’lek.

The two advance deeper into the complex, and Malavai pulls up a second set of camera feeds to keep track of their movements.

Baras’s new apprentice is an impressive fighter, he notes, trying to detach himself again from the raw ability she displays.

A second squad of defense droids attacks them and the fighting begins anew. Her movements aren’t the wild unpredictability of someone new to combat, nothing like green soldiers sent out with barely a clue which end of a blaster to hold, but in contrast she’s more reckless than an experienced veteran. Compared to the Twi’lek, who has the sense to hide and duck and utilizes cover when possible, Gimrizh just weaves around blaster fire without apparent care for the damage even a single bolt could do.

Malavai isn’t certain if she’s overconfident, or just that good.

Of course she _is_ a talented duelist, he decides, watching as she puts her glowing blade through a droid’s eyepiece before immediately moving into a spinning move that cuts the next opponent into three pieces.

But her fighting style seems incomplete, or perhaps just not perfected enough. He might not know how to fight with a lightsaber, but he's studied Sith before, and his eyes can pick out the offbeat notes just as easily as he can spot broken lines of code.

She favors one handed strikes, and keeps hesitating to use her left hand as anything more than a balancing aide. Malavai’s seen similar patterns before, often something born from a combatant used to being thrown around by large opponents. It’s a habit shown in those who would always need a free hand to break their fall or push themselves out of harm’s way. In the Navy, it would result in a pilot spinning out while in an ISF, or getting their aim in practice drills thrown off, unbalanced by the kick of a blaster. While he’s not one to argue in favor of removing a defense mechanism, it’s not only strange to see in a Sith but also a useless handicap on her.

Although lightsabers are apparently weightless, he read that there’s a flaw in their schematics. The continuous energy loop it creates is resistant to changes in motion. Surely for someone as lithe and short as her, double-handed strikes to add strength or increased inertia to counteract the saber’s initial repelling force would be of greater use. Due to Gimrizh’s light build, she should need that boost. Instead, she’s sacrificing two handed strikes in favor of keeping her left hand constantly free, which is frankly pointless.

In addition, she consistently relies on more acrobatic forms, twirling and spinning to attack and dodge. While it should marginally increase the force behind her blade strikes, Malavai disapproves simply because of how much energy her movements waste. In close combat, she favors spinning out of the line of fire instead of deflecting bolts, which is a colossal waste of time. And while there seems to be a lot of energy behind her movements, she seems to switch between either furiously attacking or pulling back unnecessarily.

That being said, she isn’t _unskilled_ either. And of course Malavai can’t make any judgements on her ability beyond observing her technique and combat effectiveness. He’s no Sith, and as such his knowledge of the force and its powers is limited to the few available files that are not restricted to the Sith Order.

But it’s clear she fights with little forethought - it’s imperfect, unrefined. It almost frustrates him, because he can see the efficiency of her work right before his eyes.

On the screen, Gimrizh and the Twi’lek dispatch the last of the droids in their sector of the tower, leaving no further obstacles between them and the mainframe computer. He flicks through different cam feeds as they rush through the complex to the control room.

The Twi’lek blows the lock on the door and then stands guard by the entrance.

Gimrizh retrieves the small bomb and it’s assorted wires from her pack and starts to fix it to the computer. She says something that makes the Twi’lek laugh as she pries open the central panel and wires the bomb into the maze of wires and datachips.

Just then, Malavai’s personal holo starts to flash - never a good sign.

As soon as he answers the call, Baras steps into view, “Lieutenant,” The flickering blue figure of the Sith says, “An update?"

"I'm compiling a report on your apprentice's abilities, as you requested." Malavai thinks of the stack of lightsaber form datafiles he received a week ago, sitting on his terminal and well annotated. "I'm uncertain how valuable my analysis can be, given the limited time I had to research Sith combat - not that I am blaming you for the short notice, my lord."

"And?"

"As I said, I hardly think it's my place to comment, but I've recorded the footage for you all the same and I shall send that off with my report as soon as it's completed."

Never forward, as usual. Put my apprentice on the line as soon as possible, I have a new task I need to speak to her about.”

“Of course, my lord,” Malavai replies immediately, already patching in the apprentice’s holo frequency.

“And send me the current location of the Republic investigator.”

“Right away.”

Malavai calls Gimrizh’s holo on the second line and, while the call connects, copies his current tracking program with the investigator's position to a spare datachip. He plugs the chip into his holo and sends it off to Baras.

On screen, the apprentice pulls out her holo communicator and within a second, her figure flickers into existence in the holo.

“Lieutenant,” she says pleasantly, “The bomb has been rigged into the mainframe.”

He nods, “I’ve been keeping tabs on your progress - as soon as you are a safe distance away I can detonate the bomb.”

“Excellent,” she replies. On the terminal’s screen, Malavai can see the Twi’lek giving his holo-self a glare. How childish.

“I have Lord Baras on the line, he wishes to speak with you.”

“Of course. Put him through.”

Malavai connects the two lines and then steps off the call, not wanting to be privy to a conversation that Baras has determined he does not need to hear.

Instead he follows his previous orders and copies over all the footage of Baras’ apprentice from the satellite control tower to the file that he has on her. He opens up a text file and starts inputting his observations of her abilities. Although he isn’t sure why Baras wants to keep such close tabs on Gimrizh, Malavai isn’t about to question his orders. And if that means writing up an analysis of her skills and failings, then fine.

He’s loyal to Baras after all, not her.

~*~

“Come on, really?” Vette groans for what must be the hundredth time as they approach the compound where Rylon’s son is being held captive.

Vette is not happy at having to work through the night and is very good at making her opinion known, “It’s just… I can’t run on fumes and caff forever, you know? You’re supposed to be a Sith right, don’t Sith get breaks? I feel as though we should get breaks. Can’t we come back for this guy in the morning?”

“Technically, it _is_ morning.” Gimrizh whispers, hoping Vette will get the message and keep her voice down - they’re infiltrating a Republic aligned compound after all, and it wouldn’t do to loudly broadcast their position to every damn guard that they slip past. Although they are slipping past a number of lightly dozing or otherwise remarkably unobservant guards. She should file a complaint. Clearly the training here is subpar, if two such obvious infiltrators can sneak in.

Republic Outpost Victory, although technically held by the Balmorran Resistance, is the pride of the Republic here. It’s a massive outpost, buried into the cliffside and built around a deep pit that allows them large swaths of underground territory. It’s manned by both resistance members and pubs, and theoretically should be nearly impossible to breach.

In reality, it’s the middle of the night.

Even for a planet that has a forty-seven hour rotation period, the middle of the night is still dark, miserable, and occupied only by those who really wish they were asleep. They’ve only had to kill two patrolling officers to get where they are now - strolling through the halls towards the cells. The few guards who pass them are easy enough to hide from and neither of the two bodies that are currently stuffed in a supply closet have been discovered yet. There are larger groups of soldiers on the base, but most are elsewhere. Fortunately, Lieutenant Quinn informed them that Durmat is being held in low security cells and not the heavily guarded prison complex. Unfortunately, the lieutenant apparently can’t slice into the system here without raising enough alarms to get them discovered in a heartbeat. Which means Gimrizh and Vette are relatively on their own for now.

Vette sighs in resignation as she starts cracking the lock on the cell door that should hopefully lead to Durmat’s cell.

With a near silent ‘pop’ the door slides open and the two walk into the main room. The cell blocks to their right are dark and silent, but the block to the left is lit and there’s the faint sound of someone talking.

How easy. Gimrizh signals to Vette and her compatriot draws her blasters and waits.

Now… if Gimrizh just gets a bit closer she can hear what’s being said…

“-I ain’t proud!” It’s a young man’s voice. Perhaps the man they’re looking for? “I give I give… I ain’t waiting for torture from some investigator... My dad’s an Imperial spy, okay?” Durmat confesses immediately.

Vette mimes shooting herself in the foot.

“What’d you say?!” The gruff sounding guard demands, “Your dad’s a what now?!”

“Yes, _please_ repeat that,” Gimrizh purrs, stepping into the light and crossing her arms, “I’d love to hear more.”

Durmat, a scrawny speck of a man, squeals like a stuck hogmonkey and leaps backwards in his cell. Regrettably, his guard isn’t as easily spooked. The guard’s stocky, tall, and with some heavy duty cybernetics, carrying a large blaster rifle on his back.

“How’d you get in here?” The guard demands, pointing the blaster at her.

“I walked,” Gimrizh says flippantly.

He frowns at her and raises the blaster in a mildly threatening sort of way, “No funny buisness. Who the hells are you?”

“Uh Zixx… that’s not… not a ‘who’, it’s a ‘what’!” Durmat sputters, pressing himself against the back wall, “It’s a - a - a - _Sith_!”

She smiles sharply at the two of them, tapping on the hilt of her lightsaber, “My, what a stunning deduction. I haven’t the slightest idea what could possibly have given me away. Clearly, your intelligence knows no bounds.”

Behind her, Vette almost chokes on a laugh.

Zixx glares at her, “Shut up! I don’t give a damn what you are - you’re no match for two squads of the Republic’s finest!”

Well. That explains where all the prison guards were.

Vette swears and moves to cover Gimrizh’s back. “So…” she says nervously, as the troopers rush into the room and surround them, “You take half I take half?”

“There _are_ eleven of them,” Gimrizh points out, "Hardly a number that we can halve."

All eleven soldiers raise their blasters and take aim, ready to fire at a second’s provocation.

Vette groans, “You are _not_ going to turn this into a competition.”

And _that’s_ when the troopers start firing.

In a flash, Gimrizh ignites her lightsaber and lets it flare to life. Vette drops to one knee and starts firing rapidly while Gimrizh deflects bolts.

Vette’s blasts send two troopers to the ground within moments, and then three drop from bolts that they themselves fired.

There’s nothing quite like this, nothing that compares to the rhythm of her pounding heart or the live hum of her lightsaber. Nothing like the feel of complete control and power. Nothing that can stop her, not as she whirls around herself and Vette, sending every shot hurtling back towards the soldier who fired it. She feels unshakable in her defense of the tight little circle that the two of them make up.

Combat is one of the few way she truly can tap into the force. Sure, she meditates and practices as she’s supposed to and the force is in everything. But the pure raw power that it gives her when she’s like this, saber in hand and everything on the line. That power is beyond all compare, both the greatest gift and the hardest struggle.

“Damn it!” Zixx yells as his troops start to drop like flies, “Kill them already!”

That one’s got to go.

Three troops are left, and if she’s very fast and clever, she can take out two of them in one go. She eyes a huge workdesk to her right - two soldiers are to her left and Vette is between her and Zixx. Okay. She can do this.

She reaches out her free hand and _pulls_.

“Vette! Down!”

Vette flattens herself to the ground as the desk careens over her head and smashes full force into the two soldiers, sending them and the desk flying into the wall. When the dust settles, the desk’s a destroyed hunk of rubble and both troopers are down for the count, lying slumped against the wall.

The single remaining soldier is shot down by Vette before she even fully stands up.

It’s a nice piece of blaster work and Gimrizh feels oddly proud. She cheerfully twirls her active lightsaber around in her palm as she slowly and confidently approaches Zixx. He’s scared, even as his eyes dart around for an exit in vain.

Before she can really even think about it, her lightsaber cuts through his torso with ease and Zixx falls down dead.

She deactivates her saber and clips it back on her belt, stepping over Zixx’s body to reach Durmat.

“Zixx?” Durmat stares at the body of his guard,”Come on man, get up!”

“He can’t hear you,” Gimrizh tells the boy, “And getting up is a _bit_ beyond his skill set right now.”

Durmat looks _utterly_ terrified, “No… look… Please don’t kill me! I mean… I know that my dad works for the Empire right, and- and I work for the Empire too and you do too… so I mean… doesn’t that make us all friends, right? I mean, you know the apple doesn’t fall far from… or wait, no there’s an apple and a tree and... “

“Goodness I do hope you inherited your wits from your mother,” Gimrizh says dryly, “Otherwise it will reflect remarkably poorly on the state of the Empire.”

Durmat, oddly enough, looks marginally comforted by that statement, “Thank you…! That’s what I was saying - there’s a tree and an apple, okay, and if my dad’s an apple…”

“Do you have a point?” She demands.

“I don’t want to die!” Durmat begs, “Please - I know this looks bad, but I’ll keep my mouth shut when the Pub comes to interrogate me - I won’t squeal, you can count on it!”

He does know that they walked in on him confessing? And that had been after no torture at all, going by his unharmed appearance. If just being imprisoned made him tell all, then Gimrizh has no delusions about his ability to withstand a Republic investigator, “You must think I’m an idiot,” she remarks.

“Sure!” He agrees desperately, “You’re an idiot! I’ll say anything you want - see?”

“Oh stars,” Vette mutters, “Please shut him up.”

“I’ll do anything - anything at all! I just don't wanna get killed!” Durmat pleads.

Gimrizh fingers the button of her lightsaber, “Regrettably, as you are an imbecile and I refuse to commit the grievous error of believing that you will keep your mouth shut, we are rather out of options.”

For perhaps the first time is his life, an idea comes to Durmat, “Wait! I - I - they had me moving storage, I saw this thing - there’s another option!”

And that’s how Gimrizh and Vette end up stealing an overpowered amnesia drug.

All in all, it’s not how they expected to spend their time, but it’s the middle of the night and murdering an idiot child just seems a bit extreme.

~*~

Balmorra’s single sun is just creeping over the horizon when Gimrizh and Vette drag themselves back into Sobrik on a beat-up speeder.

Vette promptly heads back to the ship to get some sleep before whatever assignment Baras springs at them next. And so, because someone needs to report the results of both missions, Gimrizh makes her way to Quinn’s office alone, but wishing that she too could collapse somewhere and not be conscious for a bit.

No ensigns run her down as she enters his office this time, which is a relief as she feels so exhausted that she might accidentally kill someone who runs into her. Stars, she hates this planet’s rotation.

“Ah, my Lord Gimrizh, welcome back.” Quinn greets, standing and saluting at her entrance.

At least she isn’t the only one who looks ragged. The lieutenant has dark circles under his eyes and a strong five o’clock on yesterday’s shadow. Even though he probably had plenty of time to take a nap and didn’t spend the night running around the Balmorran wasteland, he probably got just as much sleep as she did. It mollifies her somewhat. Everyone of them is suffering to meet Baras’ high demands. Except Vette. Who _is_ sleeping.

She sighs and runs her hand through her hair, trying to flatten the dirty mess it’s likely become, “Good morning Lieutenant,” she says.

“Ah,” he checks a chronometer as if to be sure that it is in fact morning, “Yes, good morning. I admit, I am both pleased and surprised that you were so successful. The odds were astronomically against you. Your performance in the field is quite excellent.”

Well. Good to know that someone appreciates her work. Even though she knows that Baras will never truly acknowledge her hard work beyond the occasional comment and has come to terms with this, it’s nice to be complemented. “You know just what to say,” she says with a sigh, “It’s been a hell of a night. Or day? How _do_ you keep up with the time on this planet?”

“With difficulty,” he quips, “However neither of us are off duty just yet - Lord Baras wishes for you to contact him as soon as possible. I’ve setup a secure channel through the holo in the barracks for your convenience.”

Of course. No chance for her to take a break or a brief nap. “I’ll speak to him right away,” is what she says though, because she values her life.

“Very good, my lord,” Lieutenant Quinn bows briefly as she leaves the room before turning right back to the holo terminal and resuming his work - likely tracking the Republic investigator.

Gimrizh makes her way through the office complex to the barracks room, pointlessly hoping that Baras will have either a simple task for her or tell her that she’s not needed for another day and a half. It’s unlikely to the point of being almost impossible, but she can still daydream about finally catching up on her sleep. It a privilege of the higher ups, she thinks, that Baras can just holo in every so often to make sure his subordinates do his bidding while not actually going into the field himself. And then she promptly stops thinking that because she’s going to be speaking with him in a second and she cannot let any of those feelings show through. She, unlike Baras, doesn’t wear a mask to hide her emotions.

She schools her face into a calm facade as she enters. The lieutenant’s room is stark and bare, looking more like a temporary hotel room instead of a place where he’s probably been living for a few years. Everything is clean, organized, with no visible personal belongings. Everything she can see is standard military equipment. No holo albums or non-regulation datapads, and not a single thing out of place. It’s oddly impersonal. She wonders what sort of person the lieutenant is, if this is where he lives.

She punches Baras’ frequency into the holo.

Almost right away the call connects, and the glowing blue light illuminates Baras’ image.

“Ah, my young apprentice,” He says in greeting, his voice only slightly distorted by the signal, “I am pleased by your work with the satellite control tower and dealing with Rylon’s son.”

Good to hear some praise coming from him, although it isn’t likely to last. “Thank you, master,” she says, “What is my next move?”

His flickering figure begins to pace back and forth, “We have removed all trace of his involvement in the Empire, and he has nowhere to run to. It is time to eliminate the man himself. I’m sending you after Rylon.”

“As you wish,” she agrees, tonelessly.

“Remember, we cannot link Rylon to the Empire in any way and there must be no suspicion that his death was assasination. Make the attack look random, as though an act of war. Kill everyone there to ensure that there are no witnesses.”

“And if the Republic investigator shows up?”

“Kill them too.”

She bows her head in submission, knowing that there is nothing she can do to change Baras’ mind about such a harsh sentence. Knowing that some part of her is even looking forward to the coming massacre. She can’t deny it and pretend that the bloodthirsty heart of her doesn’t exist. All she can do, really, is ignore it.

“As you wish, master.”

Baras stops his pacing and directs his one visible eye to stare at her, “I want him dead within the day. If we wait too long, he shall slip through our grasp. Already he may have heard news of his son’s demise. Move quickly, my apprentice.”

The screen cuts out and Baras’ looming appearance vanishes, leaving Gimrizh with the strange and creepingly insidious realization that Baras doesn’t know Durmat is still alive. He doesn’t know she spared his life.

Feeling a little dazed, she makes her way back to Lieutenant Quinn’s office.

She interrupts him before he can ask her what Baras said, or more likely ask her what he has to do, as he seems to have made the realization that his self preservation relies on not hearing any potentially secretive conversations. “I’m going after Rylon,” she says, “Where is he?”

“Of course,” He turns to the terminal and pulls up what looks like two or three separate tracking programs, blinking holo maps with various moving dots that mark position and coordinates. “Commander Rylon is currently located in the Balmorran Arms Factory. However I must warn you, the Republic investigator is close by as well.”

Damn it, can’t anything be easy? “Should that be a significant problem?”

He shakes his head, “No. The factory is the center of the war on Balmorra - half its sectors are in lockdown and the rest is consumed by the fighting. Frankly, it'll be challenging enough for _you_ to get in, let alone the investigator. Even if the investigator knew the Commander’s exact location, which is highly unlikely, it would be nearly impossible for them to reach you in time.”

“Small blessings, I suppose,” Gimrizh comments, “Can you send me the coordinates along with a map of the area?”

“I believe I can do one better,” He tells her, looking somewhat proud. He plugs a small data reader into the terminal and downloads a file onto it. In less than a couple seconds, the reader flashes blue and Quinn hands the reader to her.

She switches it on and a small holo map appears with a dot that seems to be located in the center of a large building complex. It’s an exact copy of one of the visible tracking programs the lieutenant is running, “I’m impressed,” she says honestly, “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing special, I assure you. Now, as you can see from the data logs,” Here he points to a section of the map, “Commander Rylon has remained within a fifty meter radius for the past twenty-four hours. That section of the factory is under Imperial siege, which is fortunate in two ways - Firstly, it should be far easier for you to access that area of the factory. Secondly, it means he should still be in that location by the time you arrive.”

The map is detailed and specific surrounding the factory, but it doesn’t show Sobrik. “How far away is the factory?”

“It should take four hours by speeder, barring any outstanding circumstances.” He informs her, “There are Imperial speeders that can be made available to you, upon your request.”

Oh dear. And she had been so looking forward to a nap. If it takes four hours to get there and Baras wants Rylon dead as soon as possible, she can allow herself maybe one hour to freshen up and then wake Vette.

“Wonderful,” she mutters sarcastically. She turns the data reader off and slips it into a pocket with a heavy sigh, “I suppose I can cancel any plans of sleeping soon. Vette shall be furious with me as well, I’m sure.”

Quinn frowns in confusion, “The Twi’lek, yes?”

She nods, “Vette is the lucky one - as soon as we returned to Sobrik she made a hasty retreat to her bed.”

The slight confusion, which was barely noticeable to begin with, fades from his face and the mask of professionalism returns. “Will you be able to fight at an acceptable capacity? Unless I am mistaken, you haven’t slept either.”

Good to know that she looks a complete mess. He hasn’t said as such, of course, but it is written all over his face. She’s exhausted and she looks it. She brushes it off though, “Ignore me, I just complain. If necessary, I can go up to four days without sleeping and still retain coherency and fighting capabilities. The military has similar training, right?”

“Quite correct, my lord,” he confirms, “Although I was unaware the Sith Order did the same.”

True, no one who’s outside the order really knows what it does or how it works. “What can I say, we’re a secretive bunch,” she comments, “Ah well. Let’s hope that Rylon turns out to be an easy opponent.”

“Unfortunately, I doubt that will be the case.” And there Quinn goes, crushing her bubble of false hope, “Commander Rylon is an experienced soldier, legendary for his skill in battle. He’ll have his elite squad with him as well and they are not easily defeated.”

A tiny grin slides onto her face, “Sounds like you admire the man, Lieutenant?”

“He has a glowing military history,” Quinn says stiffly, “I have respect for his abilities - not to would be both foolish, and underestimating a powerful enemy.”

She flicks her hand, as if dismissing his concern. “Don’t worry, I’m hardly going to file a complaint.”

“I hope I don’t give you reason to.” He tells her, “Now I believe the only thing left is to wish you luck on your assignment. If you require any assistance, please do not hesitate to contact me and I shall do whatever I can to aid you. I look forward to your victorious return.”

She smiles faintly, “Thank you, I’m confident that I can succeed. I’ll depart in an hour, if you can get some rest during that time, I encourage you to do so. It’s going to be a long day, Lieutenant, and hopefully Darth Baras will be stronger by the end of it.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Quinn bows his head as she turns to leave, “For the Empire.”

“For the Empire,” she echoes.

~*~

In the hour that Gimrizh gives herself she manages to take a brief sonic shower, change her clothes, and guzzle the largest mug of caff she can find. It’s no substitute for sleep but it’ll keep her functioning. She shoves a tasteless ration bar into her mouth and that's all she has time for. She waits till the last possible moment to wake Vette, who is grumpy and miserable at having managed only two hours of rest.

Then they head out to kill a legend.

The speeder only takes them to an Imperial outpost near the edge of the Sundari flatlands and they have to make their way into the factory on foot.

Any doubts about how possibly meaningless this war here may be are dispelled as soon as Gimrizh gets her first glimpse of the factory. Balmorra is a dull rocky wasteland of a planet, but clearly their droid and weapons production is worth every day spent stuck fighting this war. This planet is famous for their droid armies, and she can see why.

The Balmorran Arms Factory is the central heart and hub of this planet. And it’s massive beyond belief.

Sure, she's seen the Troidia facility and the huge metalworking complex near Gorinth but none of those can ever hope to compare to this factory. It’s a giant facility, built into the mountains and dug deep into the ground. Smokestacks billow smog across the sky, where it mixes and becomes indistinguishable from the cannon fire and dust from bombings. Huge trenches split the earth beneath the factory to make way for giant pipes that run across the dirt and connect the sections of factory to each other like veins of a living mechanism.

“I heard Balmorra can make a million assassin droids in a single day,” Vette says softly, in awe of the sheer size of the thing.

Gimrizh can believe that. She nods, speechless, just staring.

The entire place, from the flatlands they’re standing in to the man-made valley and mountains in front of them, is full of ruins - droids and ships and outposts that were never secured.

The Balmorran resistance, secretly aided by the Republic, might be a small rag-tag group of fighters, but they are by no means weak. Early on in the conflict, they’d secured the factory and now their armies of droids are fighting alongside the rebels. Squads of Imperial troops are running around, tirelessly blasting droids to bits - droids that will be replaced within a few days. She can even see the burning red lightsabers of a few fellow Sith fighting of the front lines. Huge wrecks of ships litter the ground, shot down Republic and Imperial ships alike, now used as shelter and places to hold ground.

Farther away, closer to the harsh scraggly cliffs where the main center of the factory is located, she can pick out the large forms of crawling spider-droids. Those are worse than the droves of standard sized, blaster wielding, assassin droids. Each spider unit is eight meters tall and equipped with precision bolt canons and anti-aircraft blasters. And their targeting software is said to be so accurate that it can spot and kill a womp rat from a mile away.

Getting in is going to be hell.

Gimrizh retrieves the data reader that the Lieutenant gave her and checks the map. Rylon hasn’t moved, which is always a bonus, but he’s past the first cliff, in an administrative complex at the edge of the second valley. She turns the map around, trying to figure out the best way in. "I... don't know what to do here. Vette, you're good at breaking into places, right?"

The holo gets passed to a far more interested Vette.

“Well, the Empire's apparently got a shit load of sewer pipes opened up that snake through this giant open area. Some get pretty close to the factory gates, actually, and _this one_ goes right up to - convenient. There’s a series of tunnels beyond that go straight through that mountain,” Vette tells Gimrizh, pointing at the sharp mountains ahead of them, “Rylon is through there, a hidden valley behind it, and then inside a section of the factory. One tunnel comes out near his location, it’s probably our best bet. Well, it's what _I'd_ take, at any rate.”

“Great,” Gimrizh grumbles, “I’m sure this’ll go well.”

Vette tosses the holo back. "Loads of fun."

Fun is probably the least likely thing to occur, and Gimrizh isn’t looking forward to the coming fight one bit, “I suppose we should think of it this way. When we’re done here, Rylon will be dead and we can get some actual sleep.”

Vette shrugs, “I admit, sleep is an excellent motivator.”

“Then let’s go.”

With a quiet click, Gimrizh tugs her lightsaber from her belt and holds it unlit and at the ready. They’ll have to try and approach the mountain with a good deal of stealth if they want a chance to get through without a thousand droids converging on their position.

The Imperial Outpost they've landed in connects relatively easily to the pipes, a squad of soldiers is standing guard outside the one that Gimrizh intends to traverse, and they let the two of them pass easily enough once she flashes a Sith ID badge. They clamber down into the pipes

"Gross," Vette complains, as their boots make unpleasant squelching sounds every time they take a step. "This is disgusting and I hate myself for suggesting it."

"Congratulations, you're too good at your job," Gimrizh mutters back.

They take the longer and safer way around, navigating the pipes under the trenches, the clash of blaster bolts occasionally reverberating through the metal when the pipes slope up towards the surface. 

Heavy, clanking sounds echo through the pipes - droids. Republic droids - apparently the Empire are not the only ones who figured out that this might be an excellent infiltration method. Expected, really. 

Gimrizh takes a deep breath to calm herself. She can handle droids. 

Behind her, Vette slinks towards the curved metal walls, blasters in hand, keeping back at Gimrizh's signal. She ignites her blade with a hiss of red as the droid creaks around the corner, a massive thing that crawls along the ground. 

It's energy canons roar to life when it senses them - too later. Gimrizh pushes herself off the ground and leaps. 

The burning energy of her blade carves the droid in two like it's made of flimsiplast, and when she lands on in a crouch two sparking halves of droid fall down away from her.

"Sweet," Vette grins.

Gimrizh's eyes water at the stench as the droid's dying sparks ignite whatever's floating in the inch of water that they've been walking through. "Disgusting, is more like it. Come on, if the Republic has got droids in here, it means they've got the entrance to the tunnel complex guarded. I should have known - honestly, it was ridiculously optimistic of me to think that we were the first to think of using the sewers to breach the factory."

They follow the path the droid seemed to have been taking.

A few sentry turrets indicate they're getting close - quickly dealt with as Gimrizh deflects the bolts and lets Vette get in a few pinpoint accurate blaster shots.

"You owe me new shoes," Vette complains as they trek forward, the pipes getting wider and more heavily reinforced. She scrunches her nose up at the bad smell and furrows her brow every time her feet squelch. "Really nice new shoes. Fancy ones. We're talking sparkles on them."

Yes, that's a priority right now. "Because I have the money for that?"

"Good point. What does Baras pay you?"

"Not enough to put up with this  _literal_ shit."

Vette bursts into laughter. 

Not five minutes later, they approach a wide, durasteel door, security bolted to seven hells and back, with two hulking droids in front of it, weapons powered up and ready to fire. 

"Identify," one of them demands, flat robotic voice reverberating through the metal pipe. 

Gimrizh considers the potential injuries she would get by actually fighting them. Unlike with the previous sentry, they don't have the element of surprise. Furthermore they'd run the risk of being locked out of the tunnels entirely should things fail to go perfectly. They have no idea what these droids are programmed to do. "Vette, you're a slicer, right?"

She gives a thumbs up. "Got it, boss lady. You're making me use up my favorite tools, you know? As a benevolent queen, I shall demand fair payment."

The droid blaster hums. "Identify."

Ignoring the comment, Gimrizh gathers the force in her hands, the power swelling from every inch of her body, dragged into her fingertips. She concentrates, focuses on the droids, and lets go. It slams into them, pushes them to the ground, overloading their circuits. Blood rushes to her head - she's going to faint - she can't hold this - 

Vette flings out two small disks that latch onto the droids. There's a whirr and then they power down. 

"Damn," Vette says as she saunters over to the droids. "Those are single use, too." She rips open their back plating with practiced ease and plugs her own tiny datapad into the mess of wires and parts. "Give me a minute."

"Sixty seconds exactly?"

"Hah hah."

She leans against the walls while Vette works. Ten minutes later, her friend replaces the casing and powers up the droids. "Ta-da!" she declares as the robots obediently work on opening the doors for them. "We got a droid escort!"

"By the way, nice job with that force thing, boss lady," Vette comments, lightly punching her in the shoulder, "Shall we?"

Gimrizh starts walking into the tunnel, "Of course. It'd be impolite to keep Rylon waiting, now would it."

"Hah hah." Vette says sarcastically as they enter the hallway, their voices drowned out by the roar of bombs and blasters that echoes through the mountain. Behind them, silent sentries, the two re purposed droids follow along. 

Down here, they can hear the sounds of the never ending battle around them while being relatively safe from it all. Despite the heavy bombings and ongoing siege around the factory,  being stuck inside its belly actually isn't the most dangerous place on the planet. Outside, in the thick of things and surrounded by droids, _is_ a death trap. But the Balmorran Arms Factory is the entire reason the Empire is here, and as such, it is too valuable to destroy. All raids are kept light, mostly incendiary bombs that burn up the outside defenses or precision targeted anti aircraft cannons to stop any resistance - or Republic - ships from landing. Any large scale orbital strike bombs, the sort that reduce cities to slag, are entirely off limits in this conflict. The Empire can't afford to damage the factory beyond repair, and as a result, the fighting is kept on the ground and the war drags on.

Gimrizh must admit, she's never been in a warzone before Balmorra. Korriban is only dangerous in the sense that the planet itself is actively trying to kill people. It's common to hear of acolytes dying from getting lost in a tomb or falling to one of the many predatory species that roam it's wastelands. Fighting against invaders has never been a concern. Korriban has always been a solid foundation of Imperial strength, a planet held firmly in the Empire's grasp and kept protected. But Balmorra is nothing like Korriban. It's danger doesn't come from the terrain or the wildlife, rather from the people that inhabit it. It's such a dull and miserable place because that's how the people who live here are. Even her memories of Korriban hold occasional bursts of happiness as a result of the people who she used to know. Balmorra isn't the eclectic menagerie that the Sith Order is - it's full of people who are either desperate to leave or are busy blowing up bits of it.

Although it's only a theory of hers given that she hasn't had the chance to speak with him on the subject, she suspects Lieutenant Quinn falls in the first category. Something about his reluctance to have anything of value here and his dedication to service speak of a person with ambition that extends beyond this miserable world.

In contrast, the resistance is the second category. Even though they claim to fight for Balmorra, they don't hesitate to blockade themselves inside their most precious landmarks or plant explosives in areas they claim to want free. If they really want what is best for Balmorra then they would either surrender to the Empire or officially ally with the Republic. Joining one of the two powers would let the planet be protected by the Treaty of Coruscant, and even though the treaty is falling apart at the seams, it would be a better fate for the planet. As they are right now, the resistance is effectively fighting the Republic's war against the Empire prematurely.

"Do you think Rylon knows?" Vette asks, interrupting her musings, "That we didn't kill his son, I mean?"

Probably not. When they left, Durmat son of Rylon hadn't existed. All he is now is a fresh start, a nameless face in a planet full of people without names or homes or places to belong. "I think that regardless of what he knows, we can never speak of the truth again," Gimrizh says flatly.

A deep sigh resonates from Vette, "Of course, complete secrecy and all that. I guess letting that idiot live isn't something his pudginess would allow, huh?"

"I suspect not." Gimrizh replies.

Every impression she gets of Baras is that of a sly predator, someone who will be moved to action by signs of weakness. It's not a chance she is willing to give him.

Vette’s feet drag slightly as they keep walking towards the end of the tunnel. “How does it not bother you-”

“We’re here,” Gimrizh says suddenly, cutting off Vette. They’ve come to a stop in front of a smaller metal door, and two separate hallways branching off to the sides.

She punches a button on the door control pad and with a hiss of metal, the door slides open.

“I know you cut me off,” Vette says quietly, “And I’ll bring it up later. But I have to be a little worried right now because that is a _lot_ of Republic soldiers."

It is.

They're standing in the base of a valley, only a couple hundred feet of open space between them and the entrance to the administrative complex Rylon is holed up in. It looks a hell of a lot farther away than it actually is. The entire valley is _crawling_ with Republic troops. They've got ships hovering in the air space above the canyon and large transmitter towers set up in the rock. Squads of troopers stand guard at entrances and at the docks, and as they watch, another group of troops marches off the gangplank of a docked Republic shuttle. And above them, tied down with heavy metal cables, is a massive Republic warship, only slightly smaller than an average Star Destroyer.

There are times like now, where Gimrizh is almost terrified by just how nonexistent the Treaty of Coruscant really is. The entire galaxy acts like it'll hold, at least for a little while longer, but it won't. It's just a temporary armistice to allow both sides to regain their strength and rebuild their weapons of mass destruction before the war stars raging once again.

"We need to go there," Gimrizh says, pointing at the door across from them. It's not far and there aren't any troops between it and them but it is still very dangerous. Vette has a right to be worried. "Stay low, stay quiet. Our escorts will be useful but we can't count on anything. This is where the resistance is regrouping, there isn't a battle here to cover our movements."

Vette nods and follows her as they creep along the canyon floor, trying to look natural. Like they belong. Like they _shouldn't_ be killed on sight.

"I know what I'm doing," the Twi'lek mutters, although it sounds more like she's trying to convince herself of that, "This is just like the _Headhunter._ Nothing I haven't handled before. I'll be fine. I can do this."

They steel their breath as a patrol passes right past them - nothing happens. She supposes that two Republic battle droids are good cover, and, well - they're two sub-species. They don't look Imperial. 

Once the soldiers have passed, Gimrizh frowns and whispers, "What's the _Headhunter_?"

Vette waves her hand flippantly. "A ship. It was a pirate thing - It happened a while ago, long story."

A radio transmitter station provides them with a bit of temporary cover - they're closer to the door now, maybe twenty feet away.

"I'll have to hear that story sometime," Gimrizh comments.

"Maybe later."

"Oh no now is a _perfect_ time. It isn't like we're walking through a valley filled with pubs who will shoot us if they figure out who we are or anything - _of course later!_ "

"Well someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

" _S_ _omeone_ hasn't slept in almost three days."

There's a guard droid by the door, whose eye piece focuses in on them as soon as they approach. It barely has time to beep aggressively before it gets a lightsaber through its head for its troubles.

Vette fiddles with the lock on the door before she gets it open.

They rush inside and the door slams shut behind them.

The inside of the administrative complex is eerie, old office buildings and storage rooms turned into war bunkers. Sandbags blockade certain halls and others are marked up with heavy blaster fire.

Gimrizh consults the map again to ensure they're going the right way. Rylon's bunker is one floor below them and a bit ahead. They're very close now. Not much longer until she has to kill the spy and then she can finally return to Sobrik and finish her mission.

They take an elevator down, which is slightly surreal.

This floor is split, the left wing and the right wing of the complex, the right wing crawling with droids and soldiers. They, fortunately, go left.

A large blockade barrs the way, rubble covered with barbed wire to discourage anyone from climbing over. But Rylon must be through there and Gimrizh can sense a number of troops behind the barrier. This is it.

"Are you ready?"

Vette shrugs and twirls her blasters, "Why not?" She turns to the droids and gives them a cheerful wave, "Wait out here for us, my good friends!"

Gimrizh takes a deep breath and taps into the force. It's like drawing from a deep well of power, connecting herself to a larger grid of energy that pulls on everything around her. It's part of herself and yet so much bigger than she is, as though she's merely a rock in the ever flowing river that is the force.

She raises her hand and reaches out through the force, and then _shoves_.

The blockade explodes backwards, blown in on itself and leaving an open space.

The two of them step inside.

A half dozen Republic guns are suddenly pointed at their heads.

One troop, wearing the mark plate of a captain, takes a step forward, "So, you must be here for the Commander. We were warned about you."

So the news of Durmat's disappearance must have spread faster than Baras thought. Oh well, it makes no difference now. She is too close to the man himself to be stopped. "Well if you know so much about why we are here then you should know that fighting back is useless."

The captain snorts and gives her a dubious look, "We've fought your kind before. The Commander has a few words for you."

He places a portable holo on top of the crates he's hiding behind.

When the holo starts to glow with the light of whoever is calling, it illuminates Rylon himself.

"Ah, Commander Rylon," Gimrizh says pleasantly, "You must be hiding somewhere quite nearby. I don't know what you hope to accomplish by not showing your face, but it will cost your men their lives."

He doesn't look concerned, "Sith. You should be more worried about how you will survive my troops. Captain," he says, turning his head toward the soldier, "I'm on my way. Hold the line."

And then the line goes out and Rylon vanishes.

The captain grins and hefts his blaster to aim it at her head, "Try to survive at least a minute or so, Sith, it'll be no fun otherwise."

Gimrizh just stares at them, drawing a muffled laugh from Vette as she replies, "I'll try my best not to be too bored."

"Kill her!" He snarls and all the soldiers start firing.

They're skilled, Gimrizh allows as she uses her saber to deflect their shots and keep her body between them and Vette. As soldiers go, she can see how they would be a formidable force on a battlefield. But she's not a usual enemy, she's a Sith. They haven't rigged the terrain against her or sabotaged her weapons and they are lacking their commanding officer. They are unprepared and she isn't.

Force users are an inherently different form of opponent to fight than a soldier carrying a blaster. She specializes in blade work and hand to hand combat, and it's not a good idea to be in a close quarters fight against a Sith when only armed with long range blasters.

It's easy for her to cut down two soldiers, one right after another, while Vette takes another two down. They work well as a collaborative team, despite having only fought together for a relatively short period of time. Their skills mesh well. She draws the fire and Vette takes advantage of the lack of attention to shoot as many soldiers as she can.

Gimrizh puts her saber through the last of the soldiers after a few minutes of fighting, leaving only the captain left.

He pulls a vibroblade from his hip pocket and slashes at her, having apparently figured out not to bring a gun to a knife fight.

But he's not nearly as skilled as she is.

She neatly dodges his first few cuts and barely taps him on the shoulder, leaving a searing scorch mark in her blade's wake. The captain grunts in pain and tries to cut at her sword hand.

With a showy flick of her wrist, she avoids his lunge and slices off his hand.

Both his hand and the knife fall to the floor and he screams in pain.

A heavy kick to his guy sends him falling down. He crouched on the ground, bent around his severed hand protectively, face contorted in rage and injury.

"Damn you!" He growls at her, "Commander Rylon should be here already!"

A presence tickles the back of her neck and she is suddenly aware that they aren't quite as alone as they think.

"Captain," a fourth voice says, "Sith."

In unison, everyone turns to stare at Commander Rylon as he enters the room. The Commander looks tired, no other word for it. Tired and ready to give up. He pulls out a data pad and punches in a series of instructions.

A moment later, every single camera in the room suddenly goes out with a shower of sparks.

Perhaps he _is_ clever, despite his monumental lapse in judgement when he revealed his true identity to his son.

The captain looks perplexed, "Commander? What's going on?"

"Yes," Gimrizh says, looking at Rylon. It's his grave. He dug it and now he must lie in it. She almost pities the man because in a way, they're both in the same ship. Once Baras no longer has use for her, she suspects she'll go the same way. "Why don't you tell your man the truth?"

Rylon, standing less than a few feet away from them now, sighs deeply, his eyes sad, "Very well, Sith."

"What truth?" The Captain demands.

Rylon gives his soldier a long look, "I’m sorry Captain. I am and have always been a servant of the Empire." And then before the captain can do anything more than gape, Rylon pulls out his blaster and shoots him in the head.

In the silence that follows, Rylon slowly lowers his smoking blaster.

"They were exceptional men," he admits at last.

"Why didn't you convert them to the Empire?" she asks, looking at the dead bodies that litter the floor.

"Because Lord Baras didn't ask me to." He tells her - and it's such a distasteful thought, that they could have just wasted these men. "I've been serving undercover for a long time. Had to do some things I'm not proud of. I've had to become a Republic soldier in many ways, working against the Empire and doing things that sicken me."

"You've done good work for the Empire,” Gimrizh says solemnly, “It’s a shame it’s come to this.”

Rylon tightens his grip on the blaster clutched in his slightly shaking hand, “And by ‘this’ you mean Lord Baras betraying me and sending one of his hands to kill me?” At her silence he gives a short bitter laugh, “I’ve spent so long as his loyal servant. How horrid, to think that it now means nothing to him. This will be your end too, you know.”

“It’ll bring me no pleasure to cut you down,” She tells him honestly.

“Before you kill me, please, how did my son die?” Rylon almost begs, “He was the only thing that was truly mine and in my weakness and love for him, I told him the truth.”

She can’t tell him the truth. “He died with honor, holding his head high,” she lies.

Rylon looks away, “Thank you. Tell Lord Baras it has been an honor to serve.”

Before he can turn to face her again, she cleaves his head from his shoulders.

It’s a swift death. Hopefully, he didn’t feel much, which is the least she can do for him after many long years of service to Baras. It _is_ a shame. Rylon hadn’t done anything wrong, hadn’t betrayed the Empire. He had kept his head down, done what he’d been told, and merely gotten caught between Baras and Nomen Karr in their schemes for power.

“Well that was depressing,” Vette comments.

Gimrizh deactivated her lightsaber and clips it back on to her belt, “You were expecting something cheery?”

That’s when her holo starts beeping.

As she fishes it out of her pockets, she wonders who in the galaxy could possibly be calling her. She’s finished her mission, there’s no reason for the Lieutenant or Baras to assign her another task or send her running off to another corner of this miserable planet. She’s done here, there aren’t any other of Baras’ spies on this planet that he wants dead, surely?

It’s the Lieutenant.

“My lord,” he says, “I must inform you that I heard the entire conversation between you and Rylong.”

“Are you spying on me?” She asks lightly, with no real accusation behind her voice. If he is spying on her, it wouldn’t exactly be shocking.

He looks more concerned than anything else, “I was tracking the Republic investigator actually, when she led me to you. She had the place bugged, I heard everything but so did she.”

“Damn it,” Gimrizh swears under her breath. If the investigator has a record of this conversation then Nomen Karr wouldn’t need Rylon alive, he’d have everything he needs to prove his padawan’s talents on a single datacard of information. “Where’s the investigator now? I have to stop her before she gets the information to the Republic.”

“She was heading towards a ship in Gorinth canyon, but I sent soldiers to cut her off,” he tells her, “I’m systematically eliminating her methods of escape. She’s heading to the only remaining route, the spaceport in Sobrik.”

So much for the treaty. “Sobrik is our territory, what’s she _doing_?” Gimrizh asks, more to herself than to the Lieutenant.

“I don’t think she _is_ thinking very clearly,” the Lieutenant says, “She’s running out of options. I will head to the spaceport myself as soon as I can and meet you there. The investigator will be going to hangar bay sixty-one. And my lord, do be careful. As far as I can tell, the investigator is a Jedi knight.”

“Thank you Lieutenant,” she says, and then switches off the holo.

Vette’s face turns a pale powder blue, “A Jedi knight? Like an actual full on Jedi? You’re going to have to fight a Jedi knight?”

Yeah. She is. She hopes she doesn’t die tragically doing it.

~*~

They haul ass back to Sobrik and make it to the city in just under two hours, having pushed their speeder beyond its usual limits.

Gimrizh storms into the spaceport, with Vette trailing at her heels. A couple of guards try to stop them, demanding to see identification, but are quickly stopped as soon as she places a hand on her lightsaber. Even the lowest of soldiers in the Empire know better than to get in the way of a Sith on a mission.

As soon as they enter the hangar bay, Gimrizh can sense the Jedi’s presence in the force. Although she isn’t necessarily the best at detecting others through the force, the Jedi burns brightly, a shining star in her senses.

The Jedi is arguing with the port authorities, but waves them off as soon as Gimrizh gets close. She signals for Vette to hang back, this is likely to get ugly and her friend is in no way prepared for a duel between too force users.

She’s a human woman, middle-aged and with a steady demeanor. “Sith,” she says, and it’s almost a pleasant sort of greeting. She’s calm, unaggressive even though all laws of the galaxy say that they are mortal enemies, “It’s an honor to meet someone who has managed to best me thrice throughout my investigation. I am Jedi knight Mashallon, may I have your name?”

“Pleasure,” she says, and to her surprise it isn’t a sarcastic comment. It’s refreshing to see such courtesy in an enemy. “My name is Gimrizh.”

“I’m afraid you’re too late, Gimrizh,” Mashallon tells her, “I’ve already transmitted the conversation to the Jedi Council. While you might have had an advantage earlier, you have failed. Unlike you I am calm and have purity of purpose. I seek neither satisfaction or thrills. The shortcuts that you have taken to gain power will bring about your own failure. I ask that you surrender. The Jedi Council will be merciful and take every step necessary to redeem you.”

Are all Jedi this optimistically naive? It’s not even the first time someone has mentioned she could be a Jedi and, having already considered the possibility, she knows how rotten that offer is. Perhaps Mashallon _is_ like all Jedi, and all Jedi want to redeem their enemies. Or perhaps Mashallon is unique, and the rest are as Gimrizh has been taught, hypocritical puritans who meddle everywhere they go.

“I think it’s rather a bit late for that,” She tells the Jedi instead. "Don't you have anything better to do than attempt to convert your enemies?"

Her face falls slightly - had she actually gotten her hopes up? “That’s regrettable. I won’t kill you, but I will have to… incapacitate you somehow.”

Gimrizh activates her saber, “Shame. I don’t do well with incapacitation.”

“Prepare yourself,” The Jedi warns, her blue lightsaber glowing and throwing her face into bright light.

Like plunging into icy water, Gimrizh pulls on the force and lunges for the Jedi.

Their blades meet with a burst and hiss of energy, red against blue that burns almost purple when the plasma streams collide.

Fighting against another force user is so very inherently different from fighting against anyone else that despite having fought all over the planet for the past few days, Gimrizh feels utterly unprepared as she ducks and weaves around Mashallon’s strikes. She’s fought a Jedi before, the padawan on the _Brentaal Star_ , but that had been an inexperienced child and this is a fully fledged Jedi knight. The difference that can provide is almost staggering.

Mashallon is balanced, attacking gracefully and defending with strength. She goes for non-lethal strikes, sweeping low to cut at Gimrizh’s feet and then a moment later follows up with a slash meant to cut of the Sith’s arm.

Gimrizh falls back to avoid loosing her hand and then slides forward to strike at the Jedi’s exposed chest. It fails, Mashallon is too good for something that simple to work and manages to block the attack with ease, her blue saber sending Gimrizh’s red one skidding off away from her.

It’s a roaring rhythm, their blades clashing and colliding as they meet each other strike for strike, like a well coordinated dance. It doesn’t last.

Mashallon advances and uses a strong blow to knock Gimrizh’s saber to the side. In the brief moment that follows, when Gimrizh’s arm shakes from the collision and she is just a second too slow, Mashallon attacks.

Her saber sears a hot line of pain across Gimrizh’s shoulder.

Gimrizh hastily retreats and clutches her free hand to her wound. Lightsaber burns are a whole different class of pain, and even a small injury sends adrenaline pumping through her blood. She hisses in pain, a low growl that grows into anger.

The Jedi is too calm, too placid - Gimrizh has to beat her with what she knows best.

Her blood rushes and pounds in her ears, bringing with it the familiar hum of the dark side and the fire of rage that promises unending power.

Fuck all that crap the Jedi was spouting about the dark side failing her. The dark side isn’t a shortcut, it’s just a different choice. And for Gimrizh, raised to pull on only that one side of the force, to use it as an extension of her body, to fall back on it’s power when nothing else remains, it’s the _only_ choice.

Snarling with rage, she slides into a Juyo stance and lunges.

She slashes with her saber with renewed ferocity, spinning around to gain momentum and force as she continuously attacks.

Mashallon seems shocked by her sudden anger, deflecting each cut with lessening strength until she is forced to leap back.

Taking advantage of her opponent’s retreat, Gimrizh stalks forward. Her lightsaber hums dangerously as she twirls it around and around in her palm, and then around and around her body, kicking up energy as she advances.

The Jedi takes a deep breath and raises her lightsaber. Even now, even fighting, she still isn’t flustered. It’s almost an admirable quality.

Gimrizh attacks suddenly, swinging her blade across her body to slash and hack at the Jedi. With more concentration now, Mashallon blocks each blow, twisting her blade around in the palms of her hands to meet each wild strike Gimrizh throws at her.

The dark side isn’t orderly, it isn’t precise, and neither is Gimrizh when she taps into it. It leads to pure unfocused energy and anger, and she uses that to direct her strikes. Despite not having great physical strength, she uses the force to channel power straight into her limbs and out through her saber. She spins on the balls of her feet and slams the weight of her whole body and the force into her enemies blade.

Mashallon staggers back before skidding to a stop and lunging forward.

But the Jedi’s on the defensive now and Gimrizh has the advantage. Using her free hand, she catches Mashallon’s wrist before the heat of the lightsaber can so much as touch her.

“What?” Mashallon gasps, twisting her wrist around and then striking out with her other hand, trying to bring her blade back into her control.

Gimrizh doesn’t let her. She twists her wrist, snatching the Jedi’s lightsaber out of her hand and then planting a heavy kick on her chest.

With a pained cry, Mashallon falls backwards and Gimrizh flips her conquered blade around in her hand.

Before Mashallon can so much as stand up, Gimrizh crosses both sabers around her opponent’s neck.

A dozen looks pass through Mashallon’s eyes, fear, panic, confusion, and then finally acceptance. She sighs, letting out a long breath of air that seems to take all the fight out of her as it leaves her lungs, “So. I - I am defeated.”

Gimrizh tries to slow her breathing, get her heart beat back to something resembling normal, tries to flush the heady effects of the dark side from her system. She finally calms her shaking hands enough to look the Jedi in the eyes with rationality, instead of blind anger, “You fought well, for a Jedi. Had you used more than just your one side of the force in our fight, you might have won.”

Mashallon still is unfazed, “I am at peace. No power could ever compare to that.”

“Hmm,” Gimrizh pretends to think on that for a moment, “I still think I prefer victory.”

“You haven’t won,” Mashallon says calmly, “None of this matters. The Jedi Council has all the proof they need to mark Rylon as a traitor. My work is a success.”

That’s when they get interrupted.

Pure relief floods through Gimrizh as Lieutenant Quinn strides into the hangar bay, followed by a dozen soldiers, all armed with heavy blasters and ready to subdue the Jedi. The Lieutenant points his blaster at Mashallon, “I hate to burst your bubble, Jedi,” he says smugly, “No, that’s a lie, I’m actually reveling in it.”

“Quinn. It's a relief to see you. Thank you,” Gimrizh replies, letting out a breath of tension and letting her lightsabers drop from their place at Mashallon’s neck.

A thin smirk slides onto his face, “I’m only doing my job. There was never a risk, I’ve had the Jedi monitored the whole time. And I took the liberty of intercepting her transmissions - the Jedi Council doesn’t know anything.”

Mashallon’s entire body sags, and then she opens her eyes and stares at Gimrizh, “This means nothing. I am at peace. Nomen Karr’s padawan will be the end of you either way. Strike me down, I will not resist.”

It would be so easy. So very easy to slide the Jedi’s own lightsaber through her neck and end her life with a single effortless blow. But now that the rush of battle has left her, Gimrizh looks down at her enemy with both anger and a cold rationality. She wants to kill the Jedi, but she doesn’t _want_ to want it. A few years ago she would have done it. Gimrizh tightens her grip on both blades and then finally deactivates them.

She clips her saber back onto her belt and drops the Jedi’s onto the ground as if it will burn her hand, “Killing you would be a waste,” she says at last.

In the wake of her statement Mashallon just gapes at her, incredulous.

Lieutenant Quinn signals to a group of soldiers, “Take her to the main prison and make sure she is thoroughly restrained.”

The troopers cuff her and drag her away, and the whole time Mashallon still keeps staring at Gimrizh like she can't believe her own eyes. It's so unnerving that Gimrizh has to turn away from the fallen Jedi.

"My lord," Lieutenant Quinn queries, "I admit, sparing the Jedi seems to be a very _curious_ choice."

Yes it is. She's still not really sure why she did it actually. "She could be a useful source of information," she settles on, "When else are we going to get the chance to interrogate a Jedi knight? It could prove useful against Noman Karr."

Like putting on a mask, the Lieutenant's uncertainty vanishes and he bows sharply, "Very good, my lord. My apologies for questioning you. I'll return to my office as soon as possible - when you are ready, I will contact Lord Baras for your report."

"Thank you," she says with a nod and then the Lieutenant leaves.

She kneels down and picks up the lightsaber that she had tossed aside earlier.

As she has come to expect from lightsabers, the hilt is still warm, the heat from the core still clinging to the metal even though the blade isn't active. It's a delicate hilt, not particularly refined but small and compact. Gimrizh thinks of her own blade, taken from the corpse of a long dead lord. It's not the same as crafting her own, not really. It's never bothered her before, why should it when it functions well and hasn't failed her in combat? This sort of emotional rubbish is pointless.

But what to do with the blade?

Destroy it? Disassemble it into its bare parts and reuse them? Keep it as a trophy? She knows Baras does something similar, she's seen how he keeps Tremel's hand in a jar as a reminder of that particular victory.

Well, she can always decide later.

"Vette!" She calls out, striding over to her friend, "Take this back to the ship, then wait for me at the Lieutenant's office, please."

Vette takes the hilt and mock salutes, "It was the 'please' that did it."

Time to talk to Baras again.

~*~

The distant knowledge that as soon as she finishes this she can sleep is the only motivation that gets her back to the Lieutenant’s office without collapsing on the way there. Once she gives her final report to Baras, she’ll be done and then she can get a good night’s sleep before leaving this horrible planet. Although, she shouldn’t get too hopeful, as she had been thinking the same thing right before she had to fight a Jedi knight.

She’s so tired that in a moment of stupidity and weakness, she wanders right into the Lieutenant’s office without noticing that she is interrupting a holo-call.

“-not my place to say,” the Lieutenant is saying to the translucent figure of Baras.

Baras looks up and sees her, “Ah my apprentice, you’ve returned. Lieutenant Quinn was waiting for you before updating me. What of the Jedi, has the investigator been stopped?”

Gimrizh bows briefly and then tries to think of the best way to word this, “She isn’t a problem anymore, master.”

“Good,” Baras says, “It’s regrettable that we had to break the Treaty of Coruscant so soon in my plans, but the Jedi forced our hand.”

“If the treaty is broken-?” she tries to ask.

Baras interrupts her and waves off her worry, “This is not the first Jedi that we’ve killed during the treaty’s tenure. It is of no concern. What is more important is that the Jedi Council remain in the dark about our activities, and on that front we have succeeded. Tell me, how would you assess Lieutenant Quinn’s contribution?”

“He is an exceptional officer,” Gimrizh says honestly, “I couldn’t have done it without him.”

The Lieutenant looks shocked by her statement, and just stares at her for a moment. He shouldn’t be so surprised, it isn’t like she was lying. He was an incredibly valuable asset during her mission and he deserves recognition. As does she actually, but she’s learning that working as Baras’ apprentice will get her far more stress and pain than glory.

“Hm,” Baras turns back to the Lieutenant, “Quinn, consider your debt to me paid. I’m putting you up for a captaincy and issuing an order to let you be stationed wherever you want.”

“I- Thank you,” Quinn replies, slightly breathless, “I’ll be happy anywhere, as long as I serve the Empire,” he looks back at Gimrizh, “My lord, it has been an honor to serve you. You are the epitome of what the Empire stands for.”

With a final bow, he leaves the room.

Through his mask, Baras looks pensive, “There are powerful people trying to keep Quinn down, but if he can overcome it and rise to the station he deserves then there is great hope for our Imperial allies.”

“I’m certain he will excel,” Gimrizh assures him.

“It’s not worth worrying about,” Baras says, “Quinn’s troubles are a speck compared to the work we have ahead of us. There is much more to be done. Disposing of Rylon may have bought us time, but Noman Karr and his damn padawan will still be working to uncover my spy network.”

Ah yes, there is another spy that Gimrizh has to kill off, she had almost forgotten. “Your spy on Nar Shaddaa is next, correct?”

“Correct,” he agrees, “Holo me as soon as your ship reaches Nar Shaddaa and we will begin to plan our offensive.”

“Yes, master,” she bows to him as the holo flickers out and goes dark.

She takes a deep breath, relieved that her time here is finally over. At least Baras didn’t become furious with her for letting the Jedi live. That would be disastrous. If he sees her as becoming lenient or merciful he’d drop her like a hot rock. Whatever moment of weakness caused her to spare the Jedi can’t crop up again. She can't do that again, whatever pathetic emotion caused her to do such a thing is too dangerous to be allowed to continue.

It’s unbecoming of a Sith to spare lives, especially _Jedi_ lives.

Gimrizh leaves the office with her head still in the clouds, uncertain of what Nar Shaddaa will hold for her and desperate to get some sleep.

To her mild surprise, Vette isn’t waiting outside the office like she had asked. Probably she fell asleep as soon as she had gotten back to the ship. Gimrizh can’t blame her for that, it’s been a long time with little rest on Balmorra. Definitely not a planet she’d look forward to returning to.

She makes her way slowly back to the spaceport, her feet dragging on the streets of Sobrik.

Seeing her ship parked in the hangar bay feels like coming back home after a long tiring day of work and she heads up the gangplank as fast as she can force her tired body to move.

True to her prediction, Vette is passed out on the lounge chairs and lightly snoring.

Gimrizh barely manages to slap a kolto patch on her shoulder wound before falling into her bed and sleeping.

~*~

Lieutenant, now Captain, Malavai Quinn is in the middle of submitting his reassignment paperwork and cleaning out his barracks when his private holo communicator starts beeping.

"Lord Baras," he says as soon as he answers the call, somewhat surprised to speak to the Sith again. He'd thought that what with Rylon and the Jedi being taken care of, Lord Baras would have better things to do that contact one of his network for the second time. "How can I serve you?"

"I received and read over your report," Baras says, "Your analysis of my apprentices skills was very thorough and quite fascinating. I am surprised she spared the Jedi knight, but it is no matter."

Malavai isn't sure where this conversation is leading, but to be honest, he's rather gotten used to it after so long of working under Baras. "Thank you, my lord."

It's impossible to tell what Baras is thinking under that mask, and he doesn't have any visible emotions to read, "Your report was very unbiased. I know how she fights and treats the slave and her actions in hunting Rylon but I cannot observe them myself. You must observe her for me- tell me what your opinion of my apprentice is."

"She's effective," is the first thing that comes to Malavai's mind because it is the _least_ opinionated thought he has about her, "She is polite and perhaps more considerate than other Sith I have encountered. She's relatively humble as well, or at least not as arrogant, but again, I haven't met a wide variety of Sith and those opinions have less to substantiate them. She seems either uneducated or uncaring about formality and let's the Twi'lek slave address her with blatant disrespect."

Baras makes a thoughtful noise at that comment, "Would you say that the two of them are close?"

He doesn't know, he only say them interact mainly in combat situations, which are hardly the best scenario to judge interpersonal relationships. "I suppose," is his noncommittal response. "I admit I didn't have much time to observe the two of them interact."

"And her loyalties?" Baras asks and Malavai is sure that this is the heart of the matter.

"She's completely loyal to you and the Empire," he says without hesitation, "I saw nothing that would tell me otherwise."

Baras thinks on this for a moment and then seems almost pleased, "Good. She is perhaps one of the most talented apprentices I have trained. It would be regrettable if her loyalties ever wavered. I have a new assignment for you Captain."

Malavai is somewhat stunned, "Of course, my lord."

"Join my apprentice's crew," Baras orders and it shouldn't be such a relief that the command isn't an execution order. "Nothing insidious, merely keep an eye on her. If she seems to falter in her course, correct her. And if she ever betrays me, kill her."

And now his skill set includes assassination as well, what a way to a start what he had hoped would be a new career. But he owes Baras everything he has and he knows that Baras works with the good of the Empire in mind. "As you wish, my lord. I will intercept her before she departs Balmorra."

"Good luck," Baras says as the holo goes out, " _Captain_."

~*~

Twelve standard hours later, Gimrizh finally wakes up.

A good night’s sleep can do wonders, she thinks, as she feels far more refreshed and bouncy than she has for a long time now. Vette is still napping, and she quietly heads to the medical bay without disturbing her friend’s rest.

Lightsaber burns are nasty and the one that runs from the edge of her right clavicle across to her mid-deltoid is no exception. It’s a couple centimeters deep, give or take, and a bright painful red color. Gimrizh’s medical training covers emergency basics and nothing else. She knows it won’t kill her but that’s about it.

She rips off the hastily applied patch that she applied earlier and searches the medical supplies for something bigger. There are a couple of heavy bandages and some surprisingly undiluted kolto and she wraps her shoulder a couple of times until the pressure takes some of the pain away.

Unfortunately her shirt is ruined. There’s a huge tear through all three layers of fabric, big enough for Gimrizh to stick her hand all the way through and wiggle her fingers.

With a groan she tosses the shirt away and leans back on the medical bed, letting her shoulder rest against the cold glass of the kolto tank. Either they need to get a medic, or one of them needs to start learning how to patch up basic injuries. Toovee’s been shut down for the past day, but she’s pretty sure the droid wouldn’t know a whole lot about medical care beyond the basics either. The droid said he could cover the basics, but if she keeps getting in fights with Jedi, basics aren't going to cut it.

“Hey there!” Vette says cheerily, sticking her head into the medical bay.

Her clothes are rumpled and she still looks like she’s shaking off the last bits of sleep but apart from that Vette looks like her usual beauty star self. Probably one of the good things about having lekku instead of hair is no bed head. In a moment of vain self-consciousness, Gimrizh drags her fingers through her short hair and hopes that it doesn’t look too terrible.

Gimrizh sits up properly, “I see you slept well.”

“You bet!” Vette replies with a consistent level of cheer, “Do we have a deadline to get to Nar Shaddaa?”

“No,” Gimrizh says with a shake of her head, “Baras didn’t say so, at least.”

Vette grins, “Great!”

Instant suspicion sneaks into her mind. That is way too much happiness for anything good especially considering that both of them hate this planet and have made no illusions otherwise. Clearly, Vette is up to something.

“You are too happy.”

“Aw, did you forget? You promised I could get you drunk later. Well, later is now and I found a cantina a block away from the spaceport so let’s go party!”

Gimrizh just groans.

“Come on!” Vette puts her hands on her hips, unmovable, “It’ll be fun!”

“Resistance is futile, isn’t it?”

“You know me too well! Now get up and let’s go get you drunk, you alcohol virgin!”

“If I get up now, do you promise to never call me that ever again?”

“Sure!”

“Fine,” Gimrizh relents, grabbing a couple of painkillers from a supply crate.

Vette ducks back out, yelling over the shoulder, “And don’t forget to put on a shirt!”

Half an hour later, the two of them are sitting at the counter of a seedy bustling cantina somewhere in the western half of Sobrik.

Some kind of beep-y music is being played by a couple of enthusiastic musicians in the back of the cantina and the rest of the building is filled with loud chattering people, mainly soldiers or officers. The two of them are almost the only two aliens in the room, with the exception of a tall chiss at a back table with a tiny brunette cyborg. At Vette’s insistence, Gimrizh is drinking from a glass of something-or-other that tastes sharp and smells amazing. Vette is drinking her third large mug of beer, which Gimrizh tried a sip of but thinks is incredibly disgusting. Like the nastiest wheat soda ever. Why people all around the cantina are chugging it like there’s no tomorrow is beyond all her understanding.

But they’re here, which actually is an improvement on their previous state of half-awakeness onboard the ship. And, unlike pretty much their entire time on Balmorra, they don’t have a deadline or a rush to get anywhere.

Vette drains her absurdly large mug of beer and whips her mouth on her sleeve. “Man, this place isn’t half bad, for a shitty warzone planet!”

“Good to know that we’re fighting a war to gain control of Balmorra’s liquor supplies,” Gimrizh says sarcastically, “And here I was, mistakenly thinking that we were here for its droid factories.”

“Oh shush,” Vette rolls her eyes and starts examining the bottles behind the bar to get a good idea of what her next drink is. “Bartender - barkeep - guy!” she calls out to the burly guy cleaning classes, “Get me a vodka on the rocks - the red bottle, yeah, yeah that one.”

With a bored efficiency, the bartender fills a glass and then slides it across the counter to stop in front of Vette, where she drains half of it in her first sip.

Vette smiles deviously and puts the glass back down on the counter with a click, “So, if I take the sarcasm out of you, what’s left?”

“Bitterness,” Gimrizh deadpans.

“Come on, I bet deep down, there’s a soft squishy center,” Vette practically coos, swishing the liquid in her glass around.

Gimrizh raises an eyebrow, “My internal organs?”

“Yeah, yeah, I _know_ you’re not a mean big bad Sith all the time,” she says, “You’re like… nice sometimes. It’s actually really weird. Murder and craziness, I can handle. The occasional niceness, well I ain’t used to that, and especially not from a kriffing Sith!”

“Are you drunk?”

“On my way there. That was actually my goal coming here to a cantina, believe it or not.”

“Please be sober in a few hours.”

“What, why? What are we doing?”

“Flying. To Nar Shaddaa. I can’t believe I have to remind you about this.”

“I love Nar Shaddaa,” Vette admits, signalling for another drink, “I used to live there for a brief time, after Nok Drayen.”

There’s a somewhat familiar name. Gimrizh isn’t quite sure where she’s heard the name before, but it echoes back to a long ago taken history lesson. “Nok Drayen…” she muses and then the name suddenly rings a bell, “Syndicate Wars, correct?”

“Oh yeah, I always forget he did stuff like that.” A glassy eyed, reminiscent look slides onto Vette’s face, “Never really thought about him and the wars. To me he was always just ‘yes captain’, or ‘sir yes sir’ or stuff like that. Not, you know, _wars_.”

“You worked under Drayen?”

“Yeah, during his piracy days.”

Pirates, pirates, Vette’s mentioned pirates before. “You were a pirate, right? Under Drayen? How’d you get into that?”

“His crew freed me from this gang leader asshole named Three-eyes. It was crazy, one second it was just a normal night and then the next… Drayen’s ships were everywhere and all Three-eyes’ holdings were in ruins and we were all free. He gave us a choice, which was pretty weird for a bunch of slaves. We could go free and figure out our own path or we could join up with him and the pirate life.”

“I’m guessing you joined up?”

“Course I did.”

“What was that like? You must have been a child back then.”

“I was pretty young, yeah, but it wasn’t… it was pretty great. Rough, but... Some of the best times of my life.”

There’s a moment of silence as Vette gets a sixth drink that is quickly drained. She stares at the empty glass in her hand, looking like the weight of her memories could topple over and smother her at any moment. It’s not an unfamiliar look to Gimrizh, she’s seen it a dozen times on her own face over the past two years.

“Remember the drug we gave to Durmat?” she brings up. After Vette giving up part of her past, she feels the need to even the scales. “I almost wish I could use something like that on myself.”

Vette looks up and gives her an analytic sort of stare, “Me too. You got things you wish you could forget?”

Gimrizh shrugs, “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Well, sure, _normal_ people,” Vette says, “But I always kinda thought Sith were above the whole ‘crushing regret’ thing.”

“I highly doubt that anyone is above the ‘whole crushing regret thing’.” Gimrizh says dryly.

True statement or not, Vette gives this a sage nod, “Guess so. Everyone’s got troubles. Hey I bet his pudginess doesn’t have any regrets! That ‘Darth Asshole’ probably just -”

“And that’s enough for tonight!” Gimrizh plants her hand over Vette’s mouth. Rowdy noisy cantina or not, they are utterly _surrounded_ by officers and soldiers who wouldn’t hesitate to report anyone, even a slave, for insubordination or treasonous words. While Vette might normally be decent at keeping her opinions to places where they aren’t likely to be overheard, clearly she has had one or two too many drinks tonight.

“Awww,” Vette mumbles from behind Gimrizh’s palm. "If that stuffy Lieutenant didn't report me, these guys  _probably_ won't."

Gimrizh drops her hand and stands up from the bar, fishing through her pockets for the thin credit chip.

As if summoned by the very aura of someone about to hand over money, the bartender shuffles over to her and stares heavily at her through tired looking eyes. “Are you paying your tab?” he asks in a flat dull tone.

She just puts the credits on the counter and nods, ready to get the hell out of there before Vette starts making more insidious comments.

“No no no,” Vette protests, “Lemmie take that bottle of vodka with me, _please_! It’s the only good thing about this dump of a planet!”

“No,” Gimrizh says sternly.

Vette looks positively heartbroken, “It’s too good, too pure for this world! Let me give it a better fate!”

This is too dramatic for the end of what has been a very long, very hellish week of non-stop action and Gimrizh relents. “Fine,” she nods to the bartender, “Just give us that bottle to go and I’ll pay for that as well.”

He charges her credit chip before handing it back to her and then slams the bottle down in front of Vette, who eagerly scoops it up and hugs it to her chest.

“Now let’s go,” Gimrizh orders, firmly taking hold of Vette’s elbow and steering them towards the door.

“You’re the nicest!” Vette gushes, taking a long swig from the bottle. “I will treasure this always, or at least until I drink it all.”

Well at least she’s honest about the brevity of her attention span.

Even though it’s late at night, standard time, the streets of Sobrik are still producing their usual trickle of military personnel and harried looking civilians. Gimrizh almost wishes for a deserted city, if only so that she doesn’t have to suffer the embarrassment of haranguing a half-drunk Vette back to the spaceport in front of strangers.

As they make their way through the huge corridors of the spaceport towards where the ship is docked, Vette suddenly gasps.

“I can’t believe you tricked me!” she says, outraged.

What an unexpected slight on her character, especially after all that ‘nicest’ rubbish before, “I haven’t tricked you,” Gimrizh defends.

“You _so_ did!” Vette retorts, “I was trying to get you drunk and you only had, like, two drinks!”

Actually, she hadn’t really noticed, “Of course, it was all a conspiracy on my part.”

Vette slings her arm over Gimrizh’s shoulders and laughs, “Sneaky Sith.”

Gimrizh finally enters their hangar bay to see the beautiful form of her ship sitting in front of them. At last, they can head off this world and into the deep majesty of space. Vette can sober up, Gimrizh can get all the sleep she needs, and then they’ll be heading towards a new planet in a new sector with a whole new sky of stars to surround them. She can think of few things better than that.

Although she never hated Korriban, not like some of the other acolytes did, she still feels like every day that takes her farther away from where she started is a day worth living. There are so many planets out there that sitting on the same one forever would just be a colossal waste of her life.

Oh _dear_.

Standing at the base of the ship, lingering somewhat awkwardly in front of a supply crate, crisp military uniform and all, is Lieutenant Quinn.

Or, well, _Captain_ Quinn now.

And she slowly comes to a halt a few meters away, with a tipsy Vette slung over her shoulders clutching a vodka bottle, the both of them smelling like a cantina. It’s not exactly how she best presents herself. A flush of embarrassment colors her cheeks and she has never been so thankful for the dark black of her tattoos.

Quinn catches sight of her and then, almost regrettably, catches sight of Vette as well.

Vette tugs herself off of Gimrizh and looks sober enough to cross her arms sternly and stare the captain down, "So it's the stuffy racist officer, back again."

"Please excuse Vette," Gimrizh apologizes immediately as Quinn looks suddenly stiff and offended. "She's had a bit to drink."

Trying to maintain his usual composed professionalism, Quinn ignores Vette and instead turns to Gimrizh, "My lord, may I beg an audience?"

Okay that's a lot more formal than Gimrizh is used to. "You don't have to ask," she says hastily, "Speak your mind."

"I hope you don't find my presence obtrusive-" he starts and then she had to interrupt him almost right away because of course she doesn't and this conversation can't go anywhere with such rigid deference. Technically, they're close in rank, as a captain isn't particularly lower or higher status than her place as a measly apprentice.

"Captain," she says as sternly as she can while wearing one of Vette's too big shirts and having a tipsy Vette gumpyly lurking behind her, "I hardly outrank you, please, feel free to say whatever you wish. I will not take offense, even if you're here to arrest Vette for public drunkenness."

Vette scoffs, "I am _mildly_ inebriated at most."

"Fortunately that's not why I'm here," Quinn says. He continues with such sincerity that it takes her aback. "I've spent a long time on Balmorra and until now, a reassignment to a less miserable planet was all I wanted. But you and your mission have reawakened the ambition I began my career with. To make the most profound impact for the Empire that I can."

"That's an honorable goal," Gimrizh comments. Service to the Empire, that she can relate to. She was raised to obey the Sith Order and the Empire, it's in her blood, and it's a comfort to see it reflected in Quinn, whom she has found herself admiring over the course of this mission. 

He smiles slightly, and it isn't tinted with smugness or pride, just agreement. It becomes him. "Thank you, my lord. What I'm trying to say is that I can't think of a better way to serve than with you. If you'll have me, I pledge myself to your cause."

Then to her embarrassment and disbelief, he gets down on one knee and bows his head.

"I-" Flustered, she takes a moment to regain her composure, "What are your skills? I already know you're an excellent slicer."

"I'm a top notch pilot, strategist, and a crack shot," he lists, a determined look in his pale blue eyes, "I can fly your ship, plan your battles, and then win them."

An impressive resume. Her only concern is having someone who so clearly is indebted to Baras on the same ship as the far less respectful Vette, but it's such a small hesitation that it's really not worth turning him away. And besides, she finds that she quite likes the Captain with his efficiency and politeness. He'd make a good addition to the small team that is somehow forming around her.

"I'd be happy to have you," Gimrizh agrees readily, "Vette, your thoughts?"

Vette shrugs, "Hey if you're okay with it I'm okay with it. Besides, it'll be good to have a decent pilot on board."

"I'm a perfectly respectable pilot," Gimrizh retorts in her own defense.

"You're pretty shit, actually." Vette says with complete brutal honesty.

Quinn just looks incredulous. She supposes that having an apparent subordinate insult her to her face isn't something that's usually done or tolerated. Oh well, she's hardly going to punish Vette for speaking her mind. If he serves on her ship, he'll have to get used to it. She's actually curious as to what's beneath the perfect shell of military discipline.

"Welcome aboard Captain Quinn," Gimrizh says pleasantly, holding out her hand.

He stands and after a moment of brief hesitation, takes her thin bare hand in his gloved one, "I'm happy to serve, my lord."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to get to Nar Shaddaa in this chapter, but it was not to be. Nar Shaddaa will be the next chapter, as well as probably Tatooine/Alderan. Let me know what you guys think!  
> A note about time on Balmorra: Because the planet has a forty-seven hour rotation period, and both the Empire and the Republic run on Coruscant time(aka earth time), one Balmorran day is about two standard days. Thus, if Gimrizh and Vette leave Sobrik at sunset, and return at sunrise, they’ve been gone for almost a full 24-hour day. This explains why everyone is tired as heckie, as they’ve all been awake and running around for at least 36 hours, probably more.


	3. Madness and Mayhem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Nar Shaddaa, at last! Again, one chapter for one planet arc. Once day I'll manage to do a proper multi-planet chapter... one day...

_Thwack!_

Gimrizh delivers a solid hit to the dueling droid with her vibroblade and then parries, strikes again, dodges, strikes.

It’s frankly embarrassing that she managed to get injured in her fight with the Jedi knight Mashallon and it certainly isn’t something she can allow to happen again. Her shoulder is _still_ healing, and the sore red gouge gets tugged on painfully while she practices. She’s going to be fighting far more force adepts in the near future, probably Jedi and Sith alike. Definitely people with a whole lot more experience than her.

While she came out of her confrontation with Mashallon as the victor, the difference in power was too close for her liking. The fact that she is currently wincing every time she moves her right shoulder is testament to her weakness. And even though she technically won, it doesn’t feel like a victory. She’d been injured, barely managed to turn the tide, and even then, it had been Quinn who stopped the Jedi’s plans. She had been relatively useless, all things considered. She hates feeling powerless.

An especially painful twinge shoots through her shoulder and her hand spasms, her practice blade falling on the deck.

Sighing in annoyance, she figures that she’d better have a look at her shoulder.

She wipes the sweat off her brow before it can get in her eyes. Regardless of whatever species-related pride she may or may not have, she thinks that eyebrows are probably pretty useful in keeping water and things out of eyes. Why Zabraks don’t have them is a mystery of evolution. She grabs her towel and throws it over her head before bending to pick up her vibroblade and place it on it’s rack.

She makes sure to power down the droid before leaving the cargo hold. Toovee would probably blow a circuit if she just left a droid on to do damage to the ship’s interior hull.

Actually, she should make sure Vette doesn’t start modifying the protocol droid. Her friend had been eyeing the droid’s circuitry earlier.

There’s the sounds of tinkering from the engine room, so at least Vette is occupied with something that hopefully has nothing to do with Toovee. She ducks her head inside for a moment as she passes to see what’s going on. Vette’s hunched over a worktable full of blaster parts, doing _something_ to a trigger mechanism. Gimrizh has no idea what, she’d never heavily studied mechanics or engineering. Toovee’s probably off cleaning something then, so she needn't worry about him getting any unusual modifications for the time being.

There’s another pulse of pain through her shoulder and when she turns to look, there’s a slowly growing red spot on the bandages. _Great_. Now she’s reopened the damn wound. Can’t she do anything right?

The med bay isn't unoccupied either. Quinn is rummaging around in the cabinets and organizing the supplies they have.

"Captain," she asks as she steps into the room, "Where did you put the kolto and bandages?"

He drops his armful of supplies and turns around, seemingly somewhat startled, "My lord, the kolto-" he pauses and stares at her with not a small amount of confusion, "You're not wearing a shirt."

She looks down at her torso. "No?" She's wearing chest bindings, that's close enough. And besides, why would she wear a shirt when she's sparring? It'd just get dirty anyways and she shouldn't waste energy doing laundry for pointless reasons. "I guess not?"

"And you're injured." Quinn follows up with, which seems to a far more important point.

"My shoulder was cut during my fight with the Jedi," she explains, "Nothing serious, but I think I opened it up during my practice today. Just point me at whichever shelf has the kolto and I'll be fine."

He sighs and points a finger at the medical bed, "My lord, if you exacerbate your injury it won't heal. Sit down and I'll take a look."

Obediently, she sits down and peels the layer of bandages off her shoulder. There's a layer of burned tissue on top that's been torn and is bleeding steadily. Somehow it didn't look as bad the other day when it had been fresh. It looks pretty typical for a badly healed lightsaber burn so at least it can't be too bad.

"You have training as a medic?" She asks as Quinn runs some kind of diagnostic tool over the surface of her skin.

"I served in the medical core for a while," Quinn grabs a strange device that she can't identify and a package of kolto-gel. "It's not too deep, which is fortunate as I doubt this sort of burn would take well to stitches. I'm going to pack the wound with kolto and then seal it."

The weird green kolto-gel mixture is at first far too cold, then weirdly tingling, and then after a second she can't feel her shoulder at all. She rolls her neck and shoulder muscles around a bit to try and get a feel for the numbness and then Quinn places a hand firmly on her shoulder.

"Please stop trying to make it worse," he says in a slightly exasperated tone, "If you consistently reopen the wound, it will improperly heal and scar."

She shrugs and then finds that she can't shrug while Quinn's holding her shoulder down, "I've had worse.”

“I don’t doubt it, but scar tissue can interfere with mobility and negatively affect your combat performance,” he comments dryly.

Well. She didn’t know _that_. “Really?”

Using the weird looking device, Quinn rolls a thin transparent layer down over the gel to keep it in the wound. She has absolutely no idea what it is, which really says a lot about just how little medical knowledge she has been given over the course of her education. In the Institute on Korriban, she was mostly taught how to destroy things, fight, and be a loyal member of the Empire. Keeping people alive was never a part of that.

Apparently Quinn doesn’t know what her education was like, “Scar tissue damages skin and muscle, as it doesn't have the same properties that a normal layer of tissue has. You didn’t know?” He asks incredulously before stumbling, “I don’t mean to question you, my lord.”

Gimrizh just waves it off, “It’s fine. I’m well aware that I know next to nothing about medical care. Sith education focuses more on fighting and using the force. It’ll be good to have a qualified medic on board.”

“I’m happy to serve, my lord,” he replies, grabbing a roll of bandages and starting to wrap the injury, which, honestly, she can do that herself, she’s not _completely_ incompetent. “Raise your shoulder please,” he says absently, trying to tightly wrap the wound.

“Oh sorry, I thought the rule is that I’m not supposed to move it at all ever,” she mutters sarcastically. But she goes ahead and raises her shoulder anyway.

He coughs in a way that sounds suspiciously like he’s trying not to laugh, “No, the rule is ‘always do what the medic tells you’.”

“A rather vague rule,” she says with a grin and then eyes the needle he’s holding with apprehension, “What’s that?”

Quinn glances down at the syringe in his hand, “A painkiller, my lord.”

Eh. There’s barely any pain now and it’s nothing she can’t handle. “I don’t need it,” she says hastily, pulling her now-bandaged shoulder out of Quinn’s grip.

“Of course, my lord,” he sighs, putting the anesthetic away.

“And you don’t need to call me that. I’m not a lord, I’m just an apprentice. I hardly need a title. Just… call me Gimrizh. That’s what Vette does.”

“That wouldn’t be professional,” he quickly replies.

Ah the struggles of professionalism. She’s never had much use for the rigid formality and hierarchy that runs so heavily through the Empire.

“Well-” she tries to say and then is interrupted by a low beeping from the main holo outside the med bay.

“Is that-?” Quinn asks.

She jolts upright and leaps to her feet, "Darth Baras.” Then she glances down, “I should put a shirt on.”

While the holo call keeps beeping, she runs across the main corridor to her quarters, grabs the first shirt she can find and throws in over her head. A few seconds later, she skids across the metal deck and stands in front of the holo, looking, if not more presentable, then at least more dressed. She presses a button on the terminal and answers the call.

“Master,” Gimrizh says as a greeting to the holo-image of Baras, “We are a mere hour away from Nar Shaddaa, baring any complications.”

"Excellent," Baras starts to pace on the screen as he talks, his voice crackling with the distance and static, "Nar Shaddaa is a detestable planet of frivolity and distraction, full of gambling and spice and gang wars. It’s in every way, the _armpit_ of the galaxy. Fortunately I won't have you stay long.Your mission here should not take too much of our time."

Sounds like the sort of planet Vette might care for. Gimrizh won't form an opinion on the place before she even steps foot on it, so she just nods at Baras' comments. “Who am I here to kill?”

“My spy, Agent Dellocon,” he informs her, “Normally this would be a trifling matter, but my agent has acquired a powerful ally, the young Sith Lord named Rathari. He’s an upstart and has openly disobeyed me. The Dark Council has given him dominion over Sith interests on Nar Shaddaa. Dellocon knows much about my work and I _refuse_ to allow Rathari to get this knowledge.”

“If Rathari interferes I will-” she tries to say.

“No,” Baras orders, “I want you to burn Rathari to the ground and destroy him. Your contact will be Halidrell Setsyn, she runs my slave operations on Nar Shaddaa. Kill Dellocon and _end_ Rathari.”

Those are dangerous orders. Killing a Sith Lord, especially one favored by the Dark Council, is a controversial move at best. One worthy of a swift and brutal execution at worst. While Sith often do have one another killed, most send bounty hunters or assassins to do it so that no one higher up can complain too much. Sith are always scheming against each other and killing each other off. Apprentices killing well liked lords on the other hand, that's not common. And not approved of.

But it's obvious why Baras wants her to do it, even though theoretically he would be more likely to get away with it. It's another piece of blackmail he will have on her. If she stays loyal to him, her assassination of Rathari will remain buried. If she betrays him, he'll use it against her, drag it up in front of the Dark Council and use it to take her out. And of course, she can't refuse. Baras is a clever enemy. It'd be a lot easier to appreciate that if she isn't stuck playing this damn game with him.

"As you wish, master," she intones. There's no choice here, regardless of how much she might detest him for trapping her in this position. He's too good a player for her to ever contend with.

"Good luck." Baras adds and then the call drops.

“Well,” Vette says, leaning against the hull in the hallway. She must have heard the holo and stopped working on her blasters in favor of snooping, “This is going to be fun. I _love_ Nar Shaddaa. Great shopping, great views… Now the whole murder and complete destruction thing, not so much. Maybe I can just play with Toovee while you run around doing your mayhem and madness? Sound good?”

As much as Vette’s desire to take a break from the hard work should annoy her, Gimrizh honestly just can’t find it in her to get mad. If she were Vette, she’d want nothing to do with her mission either. They did just spend an unholy amount of time running up and down Balmorra. “If you want, you can stay out of it. I’ll go and hunt down Rathari and Dellocon by myself.”

“Really!?” Vette beams at her, “You’re the best! I owe you one!”

“Sure. Just buy me something pretty while you shop and relax and… I don’t know.” Gimrizh feels like she is somehow failing as a friend by not knowing what Vette likes to do in her spare time. Oh well, she can fix that at a time when she doesn’t have an errant Sith lord to track and destroy. “Whatever you want to do.”

Quinn, on the other hand, looks affronted by Vette’s casual disregard of responsibility. “Then _I_ shall accompany you, my lord,” he says pointedly.

In response, Vette huffs and angrily crosses her arms, “Fine. I’ll go get my lekku buffed, and _you_ can deal with the blood and guts and the casinos… the constant smell of spice… the turf wars… everything the ‘ _armpit_ ’ of the galaxy has to offer. I’m sure you’ll have fun.”

“It isn’t about _fun_ ,” Quinn retorts, “It’s about _honor_ and serving the Empire. I suppose I shouldn’t expect you’d know anything about that.”

Vette looks mad enough to hiss like a wild nexu, “I’m plenty honorable.”

“If you were, you wouldn’t be so eager to abandon your duties.”

“I’m being _practical_! I deserve a break! I had to haul my tired, sleep-deprived ass all over Balmorra and I’m still pretty damn exhausted. You got to relax in Sobrik the whole time.”

“I was making sure you didn’t get killed -”

“Like you give a damn if me or her gets killed off!”

“Whatever you might think about my _emotions_ , I at least do my job. You have more interest in slacking off than than working -”

“I don’t _have_ a job! I’m a kriffing _slave_ -”

“You’re blatantly disrespectful -”

“ _Enough!_ ” Gimrizh yells, making everything nearby rattle violently. The two suddenly stop arguing and fall dead silent, “Whatever problem the two of you have with each other, find some way to resolve it _quietly_ and without squabbling like crechelings! Quinn - if I say Vette can take the time off, then she can and it’s _fine_ , stop questioning her. Vette - stop trying to start a fight, I don’t know what issue you have with Quinn, but _drop it_.”

Silence echoes throughout the ship as both shut up. Quinn looks like he's been slapped and tries to step back and compose himself. Vette on the other hand is still angry enough to rip her lekku out and she turns her head away from main room so as not to be forced to look at either of them.

Gimrizh takes deep breaths. Getting worked up into a rage is absolutely not the right thing to at the moment. One of them has to be sensible now and she supposes that person is her.

"You are both part of my crew," she says firmly, her anger a tightly controlled edge in her voice, "and on my ship. You will get along or you will get off. I will not have the two of you acting petty, am I understood?"

"Yes, my lord," Quinn says, resigned.

Vette sighs moodily and then bites out a reluctant, "Fine."

"Good," she unclenches her fists and takes a step away from the holo terminal now that it's no longer in danger of being destroyed, "Then let's get to work. Vette, I want you to make sure Toovee is charged up and that his programming is fully functioning. If we're going to be leaving that droid in charge of the ship while we're gone, I can't have him puttering around wasting time dusting. And while me and the Captain are hunting Rathari and Dellocon, get the ship restocked please. We'll need more supplies."

"Yeah sure," Vette agrees, waving her hand dismissively, "Whatever you say, boss lady."

Before Quinn can so much as even sneer at Vette's casual address, Gimrizh rounds on him, orders already on her lips, "Captain, we'll be touching down within the hour. It'd be best if you make sure the ship's ready to drop out of hyperspace and that we're ready to land. If you're to accompany me, then pack your things. You're certain to need a blaster."

He bows, and she can't see any of the irritation that she knows is there. He definitely has better control of his emotions than she does, "I will be ready as soon as I can."

"I'll join you on the bridge in a few minutes," Gimrizh says before dismissing both of them, Quinn to his quarters and Vette back to the engine room, presumably so that she can resume her avoidance with power tools.

After doing a series of calming breathing exercises to get the last of her boiling anger out of her system, Gimrizh retreats to her room. She grabs an actual shirt that she can fight in and clips on her belt, her inactive lightsaber tapping against her thigh as she walks as a pleasant sort of reminder that she is armed and dangerous.

She heads to the peace and quiet of the bridge and reclines in the copilot's chair. The bright light of stars streak by the viewport faster than she can count them. They're still in hyperspace - moving faster than anything, hurtling through the galaxy. Normally such a sight would be relaxing, she had loved the view on the way to Balmorra.

But she's still irritated. She _knows_ why Vette is so irritated by Quinn, or at least she suspects, but she isn’t… she’s not someone who can talk to Vette about it. She’s not good at that sort of thing and she doesn’t want to make the situation worse.

The bridge door slides open and Quinn steps in, “My lord -"

"Later," she says with a sigh, ignoring him in favor of staring out the viewport, "I am still angry at the both of you and it would be best to wait to discuss this until later."

"... Of course, my lord," he says after a moment's pause. She has to admire his professionalism, if nothing else.

"Help me land this ship," she orders, pointing vaguely at the pilot's chair to her left, "I can't fly by myself and Nar Shaddaa is coming up fast."

Silently, he sits down next to her and starts punching command codes into the terminal.

As they begin to pull the ship out of hyperspace, Gimrizh slowly takes all her irritation and frustration from the earlier argument, all her rage and anger from Baras' scheming, all of it, and then pushes it down and bottles it up. When there's a fight, when she needs to burn with fury, she'll uncork that bottle and let it all out.

~*~

Malavai decides, within the first hour of landing, that he doesn't like Nar Shaddaa. It's a thoroughly unpleasant sort of planet, and despite the similarities between it and Kaas City - namely the large populations, multi-sector skyscrapers, and bloated economies - the two cities couldn't be less alike. And he definitely prefers Kaas City.

Nar Shaddaa is an overcrowded haphazard mess of people of all sorts. There’s no order, no proper structure to the place, just everyone everywhere. There are both Imperial officers and Republic soldiers here, and although a Rattataki trooper practically snarls at him as he heads past, there isn’t any fighting. He’s more accustomed to having pubs attack him than pass him by. It isn’t too surprising though, they are in Hutt space now. Hutt space is by nature, neutral, and the only laws imposed are the ones that the Hutts decide to enforce.

As far as he can see, that means no laws at all. As they make their way through the Corellian sector, they pass groups of people surrounded by clouds of spice smoke, heavily armed gang members that glare at passersby as they load blasters, loud and hazy gambling houses that smell like a cantina. Prostitution is also rampant here, and after they walk past a flashing neon sign featuring a half naked twi’lek for the dozenth time, Malavai has to admit that he has no idea why Vette would like such a horrid planet.

The contact, Halidrell Setsyn, runs her business out of a dingy office in Krayt territory. The entrance is just a whole in the wall labeled ‘Setsyn Commodities’. Lord Gimrizh actually walks right past it at first.

“-or else things are gonna start looking bad for this little operation of yours,” boasts an Exchange captain, looking smug as he and his two cronies threaten Setsyn.

In a movement so slight that Malavai almost misses it, Gimrizh unclips her lightsaber from her belt and holds it loosely in her hand. Both of them can see the inevitable fight coming from a mile away.

Setsyn, a sharp sort of woman, catches sight of Gimrizh and smirks at the Exchange men, “Turn around, and you’ll be killed by a Sith.”

“Darlin’,” The captain sneers at her, “Who you trying to fool? You ain’t got a Sith, you ain’t got nothing here but a bunch of Baras’ slaves and a shitty one-shot blaster.”

“I’m not party crashing, am I?” Gimrizh taunts, stepping into the light.

The Exchange members jump at the sudden appearance of an actual Sith, and the two lackies raise their blasters. As if that would make a difference, Malavai thinks smugly. It’s clear that all three of them are nothing more than low ranking gangsters, and they are no match for the Lord Gimrizh.

“No, you’re expected,” Setsyn says peaceably, “But I fear you might have a quarrel with these men, they say they’re going to take over Lord Baras’ operations here. I figure you might have to disagree with them.”

In an almost predatory manner, Gimrizh flips her lightsaber around in her palm and looks over the three offenders, “I’m afraid you’re right, Halidrell, I _do_ have to disagree.”

The Exchange captain laughs, “We can take out one tiny little girl, Sith or no. Kill her!”

In a flash, they draw their blasters and start shooting at her wildly. Malavai moves to intervene, blaster already drawn, when Gimrizh gives him a look and signals for him to wait. With no small amount of reluctance, he lowers his weapon and stands down.

Lightsaber blazing crimson, she flicks the blaster shots out of the way and then cuts down the nearest man with a thrust through the heart. A moment later, she slices down the rest with two neat, quick cuts.

It’s over and done in a moment and Gimrizh calmly deactivates her lightsaber. She could hardly be less bothered by the whole ordeal. It’s a bit strange, Malavai’s seen her cut down droids, soldiers, and now gangsters without pausing for breath, but then she spares a Jedi on an apparent mere whim. He’s supposed to be keeping an eye on her for Baras, but it’s proving to be a more difficult challenge than he anticipated.

“That was dull,” Gimrizh drawls, stepping over one of the rapidly cooling bodies.

Setsyn puts her own blaster away, “You have a flair for the dramatic, don’t you? I probably could have handled that, but thanks anyway.”

How rude. She’s only still standing thanks to the Lord Gimrizh.

“You’re welcome,” Gimrizh, apparently unconcerned by the woman’s impoliteness, shakes Setsyn’s hand, “Good to meet you. I apologize for the mess.”

“No matter,” Setsyn shrugs the matter off, “You’re here for Rathari, right? Not much to tell you, I’m afraid, he strikes and then shrinks back into the woodwork. You’ll need to draw him out if you want to catch him. He’s been making some major power plays here. Disrupting them will make him hate you and then he’ll seek you out.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Gimrizh says with a tight smile.

“He’s talking with the Hutts about them handing over some territory to him right now, and his apprentice, Girik, is at a conference in Cartel Headquarters. If you bust in…”

“It’ll certainly put a dent in his plans.”

Except that they _can’t_ simply kill a bunch of Hutts, even to get at Rathari’s apprentice. The Empire is already struggling to fight one war against the Republic, they cannot afford to begin another one against the Hutt Cartel. “My lord,” Malavai interrupts, “I don’t wish to disrupt your plans, but it would go against the Empire’s best interests to kill members of the Hutt Cartel.”

“You’re right,” Gimrizh hums thoughtfully, “It’s too good a chance to miss though. I suppose I’ll have to be diplomatic.”

Setsyn seems mildly amused by this, “That’ll be interesting to see. Good luck then. I hate to miss the action, but I’ve got a shipment to send out and I’ll wait for you here.”

Gimrizh’s smile gets ever so slightly smaller. She gives Setsyn a sharp nod and then turns to leave.

As they step out of the dingy office, Malavai considers trying to speak with her about what had happened between him and Vette earlier in the day. But he sees the tightness around her jaw and the way her fists are clenched at her sides and decides against it. Either she is still angry, or there is something new for her to be angry about. Perhaps he can speak to her after the confrontation with the the Hutts.

~*~

They take a speeder to the Duros sector. The Hutt safe house is far more luxurious than a bunker has any right to be, full of plush carpets and brilliant light fixtures that radiate the opulence of wealth that the Hutts maintain. The few tradesmen and gangsters that mill about the headquarters quickly file out of Lord Gimrizh's way as soon as she passes.

A guard tries to stop them from entering the central chamber, but Gimrizh flicks her hand and sends the guard tumbling into the nearest wall.

"Quinn," she says, her hand pausing on the door, "Be careful. I know nothing of Rathari's apprentice but I'm certain there'll be a fight and I want you to stay out of it. This has to be _my_ fight.”

It’s true, he’s never fought a force user before, let alone a Sith. It’s not an unreasonable order. “Yes, my lord,” he replies.

She opens the door with the push of a button and the massive double doors slide out of the way. The room is a massive, decadent lounge, with two Hutts sprawled out on chaises smoking heavy spice pipes. A number of guards wielding small hand-blasters are stationed around the room, but they’re no threat. Who both Malavai and Gimrizh are looking at is the tall figure pacing in the center of the room, a red-skinned Zabrak with a lightsaber clipped to his belt. That must be Rathari’s apprentice, Girik.

Girik drops whatever pitch he was trying to sell to the Hutts as soon as Gimrizh steps into the room.

“So sorry to interrupt,” Gimrizh says lightly. She gives a polite nod towards the two Hutts, and it’s surprisingly a rather diplomatic gesture.

“ _What are you doing here?!_ ” The Hutt sitting to the left demands in Huttese, Ybann, if Malavai remembers his Hutts correctly, “ _Who do you think you are?"_

Girik smirks and answers the question despite it not being directed at him, “That’s Baras’ overstated apprentice. Me and my master anticipated your arrival. Although I admit, I wasn’t expecting to meet another Zabrak.”

“Always good to see someone with a decent set of horns,” Gimrizh quips. What an odd exchange. Malavai expected her to hate the apprentice immediately, not get along.

The second Hutt, Qiltakka, chuckles at the conversation, “ _How amusing! It looks like another Sith suitor has appeared. Tell us your proposal, little dark thing._ ”

“Neither me nor my master has any quarrel with you,” she replies, “I am here for Girik, nothing more.”

The Hutt points his pudgy finger accusingly at her, “ _And yet you just created a quarrel. By bursting in on this closed meeting unannounced! Your master should be the one to contact us, not his arrogant apprentice! And certainly not in this rude manner. You risk our wrath as well as this Sith’s._ ”

Gimrizh’s shoulders stiffen and she glances over at Girik, “Well then. I’m sure it must be rather inconvenient for the Hutt Cartel to be trapped into handing over territory to rude scum like Rathari and his apprentice here. I could take care of him for you?”

Ybann outright laughs at this, “ _It would be entertaining! I suppose we’ll side with the victor then."_

“ _I put my money on Rathari’s man,_ ” Qiltakka comments.

Girik laughs as he draws his lightsaber hilt, “Truly, the odds are against you, cousin.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. I suppose the only way for you to find out is to fight me,” She says acidly to Girik as she too raises her saber.

“I’ll kill you,” he replies, “And then these Hutts will have no choice but to bend to the will of my master.”

Both activate their sabers simultaneously, dual beams of bright crimson. They take slow steps, circling each other, waiting for an opportunity to attack.

In the end, it is the Lord Gimrizh who strikes first. She lunges for Girik and brings her blade down on his head in a powerful strike. He blocks it, throws her off him with sheer strength and then the fight really begins.

It's interesting to watch, although stressful. The two combatants have different styles that clash. Gimrizh still relies on a loose and evasive one handed form, whereas Girik favors stronger and more forceful blows that put her on the defensive.

The two blades crash together with a shower of sparks before they break apart again just as quickly. Girik slashes curiosity at Gimrizh as she weaves her way around his attacks. It's not quite even dodging, she's just always right where his lightsaber isn't, just fast enough to avoid injury. They're closely matched, but Malavai's worried. It's obvious Gimrizh's shoulder isn't healed and it's slowing her down. She's wielding her lightsaber in her left hand instead of her right and she doesn't move her shoulder more than necessary. It's a troublesome handicap in a battle with another Sith.

Girik deals a particularly strong blow that sends Gimrizh whirling out of the way. She goes low and slashes at his legs, but he just leaps over her and tries to stab her in the back.

She flips her blade around to block the strike and then pivots on the spot to lash out again. They exchange a brief flurry of blows in which neither of them moves more than an inch, just their sabers flashing and colliding.

Using what can only be the force, Girik sends a table flying towards Gimrizh. She disengages from her fight with him, jumping back and using her saber to cut the table in two before it can knock her down. The halves skid to a stop behind her and she slides into a lower stance, her lightsaber held back and at the ready.

“You’re not half bad,” Girik comments with an infuriating smirk.

Gimrizh just twirls her blade around, “I’m ever so glad to provide you with such excellent entertainment. Should I get you a seat next to the Hutts so that you can watch? Or would you rather keep fighting?”

“Arrogant,” he sneers, “It’ll be fun to put you in your place.”

“ _Kill it already,_ ” impatiently demands the Hutt that bet against Gimrizh.

Girik rushes her with a hard overhand blow that slices through every layer of carpet on the floor as Gimrizh spins out of the way. In retaliation, she slices a long thin gash across his torso. He hisses at her like a wild nexu. Perhaps he’s not much better than an animal, in truth.

He unleashes a flurry of wide powerful strikes, trying to slice and cut at Gimrizh. But it’s less focused and more unpredictable. She manages to keep him at an arm's length with greater ease than before. Every swing of his saber is met by either a light parry as she deflects the hit, or nothing at all as she dodges. Despite the anger that Malavai guesses she’s holding in, she’s still possessed of remarkable control as she skillfully weaves around her opponent’s lightsaber.

Then Girik manages to get a hit in.

His lightsaber drags a long gash across her torso as she moves out of his way just a second too late. The blade burns all the way through her light armour to sear her flesh. Gimrizh falls back and staggers, pressing a palm to her side to try and stop the pain.

Girik lowers his lightsaber and raises his hand. His fingers clench tightly around open air.

A thin wheezing breath is the only sound that makes its way out of Gimrizh’s lips and her eyes go wide as she chokes. Malavai draws his blaster, ready to intervene if he has to - orders or not, he isn’t about to stand by as his commanding officer dies.

She takes one last strained breath of air and then starts to breath normally again. He can’t tell how, but she appears to have shaken it off. And she looks _furious_.

In a mirror of Girik’s move earlier, she throws out her hand and starts strangling him. Girik claws at his throat like he can’t believe it’s even happening to him, even as blood rushes to his face and his jaw gapes open without drawing breath.

“Arrogant,” she says coldly, spitting his own words back at him.

She drags him through the air till his feet are kicking a foot above the floor. And then she throws him against the wall. Before he can recover she tosses him to the side again and then tugs him up to hang in midair.

With one last movement of her hand, she sends him crashing into the floor.

She strides over to where he lies limply on the ground and uses the force to pull his head up and look him in the eyes.

"Are you having fun?" She demands in a tone sharper than a vibroblade and colder than Hoth.

Girik spits out a mouthful of blood, "My master will take you down - you and Baras both."

She drops her hold on him and lets him fall to his knees without dignity, "I doubt it," she turns smartly to the Hutts and orders, "I've won - are you going to uphold our bargain or not?"

Ybann the Hutt grumbles but nods obligingly, " _As you say, dark thing. A deal is a deal. We will have no further dealings with Rathari. It'll be rather invigorating I suppose, not having to work for that vicious animal."_

" _We will refuse Rathari's terms,"_ agrees the Hutt who had bet against her, " _And we'll be keeping an eye on you. This small apprentice is one thing, Rathari is another_."

She nods sharply to the two of them, "Good to hear. I'll take out the trash for you," she adds with a glance at Girik.

Girik gapes at her in disbelief, his wide eyes red in the glow of her lightsaber.

"No!" He cries, "This isn't possible! I'll die by my hand before I die by yours!"

And then he presses the hilt of his lightsaber to his chest and turns it on. In a burst of blood and charred flesh, the glowing blade erupts from his back. Blood trickles from his lips and then he falls down, not to move again.

Malavai steps forward to congratulate his lord on her victory and then stops dead in his tracks.

All apparent anger has fled from her expression. Beneath the thick black ink her face is white and bloodless as she stares uncomprehendingly at Girik's corpse. She stumbles backwards and lets her lightsaber flicker out.

"My lord," Malavai asks, "Are you alright?"

Her lips hang open for a moment before she can come up with words, "Why did he _do_ that? There wasn't a reason. He didn't know me, I could have spared him, there wasn't- why-" she takes a deep breath and steps back, clipping her lightsaber back to her belt, "It's nothing- I'm fine."

That was hardly _fine_ , but Malavai's not going to press the point. "As you say, my lord."

She gives a final nod to the Hutts and then strides out of the headquarters as though chased out, “Let’s get back to Halidrell right away. I can’t stand Hutts.”

~*~

After a relatively dull meeting with Setsyn, Malavai and the Lord Gimrizh head back to the ship to wait. Setsyn promised to contact them when she obtains news of a skirmish between Rathari’s men and the Republic that they could interrupt. It’s a decision Malavai’s uncertain about. Of course, defeating Rathari’s men is all part of their plan to support Lord Baras’s operations on this wretched planet. Still, attacking Imperial soldiers with the goal of preventing them from defeating a Republic garrison isn’t what Malavai signed up for.

The ship is quiet at least. Nar Shaddaa is the planet that never sleeps and Vette has taken advantage of the constant activity to be out and about for the past thirteen hours, according to the ship’s cams that report her departure. Toovee is powered down in the engine room, with half his components in various states of disassembly and his power core hooked up to the main engines.

Gimrizh just sits quietly on the edge of the medical bed as Malavai patches her wounds for the second time. Now there’s a long gash on her side in addition to the still healing damage on her shoulder.

“We should stock up on medical supplies, my lord,” Malavai comments as he hands her the kolto wraps, “If you keep getting injured at this rate, we’ll run out rather quickly.”

She laughs lightly and then winces as the movement tugs on her burns, “This is hardly the usual, I assure you, Captain. It's been a long while since I was hurt this badly in a fight, but I suppose that's the way of things. Jedi Knights and proper Sith apprentices are a tougher challenge than mere acolytes."

He knows that she's a new apprentice to Lord Baras, but he didn't think she is _that_ new. He had presumed at least a year of service to Lord Baras, but if she's only encountered the Jedi from Balmorra and this most recent apprentice then she can't have been an apprentice herself for too long. Was Balmorra her first mission even? "Acolytes from the Sith Academy on Korriban, my lord? I thought that fighting between acolytes is not permitted on Korriban."

"Oh, you're right," she readily agrees, and then elaborates with only the slightest of reluctant pauses, "Academy acolytes can't kill each other _in_ the Academy. But a number of the surrounding tombs are fair game and, if an overseer orders it, any of the acolytes can be killed. Hells, when I was there, a number of acolytes tried to kill me inside the Academy itself. It's only murder if you get caught, otherwise it's just an accident. And of course the overseers don't particularly care."

But _she_ does care. If she didn't, Malavai doubts she would have said as much on the subject as she did. "How long were you an acolyte for? If you don't mind me asking, my lord."

She shrugs, "Not sure. I've been on Korriban since I was two, I think."

"You entered the Academy at such a young age? Not that I'm questioning you, merely surprised." The Sith are remarkably secretive about how they train potential Sith and what occurs on their planet. If the Lord Gimrizh has no issues with sharing their secrets, it's probably his best chance to ever find out what the Sith Order is like.

"No, I entered the main Academy a few months ago," she tells him, "Korriban has a number of institutes that take acolytes of all ages, from infants to adults. You're only sent to the Academy if you're ready to attempt the trials."

A few months ago? She's only been a Sith for a few months? How unexpected.

"Don't look so surprised, Captain," she says lightly, "I'm hardly unusual. Not a lot of Sith spend much time at the main Academy. It has a high turnover rate. Besides, I enjoyed my time there. That's where I met Vette."

Well if she's ready to discus the argument from earlier then Malavai will comply. He isn't exactly proud of himself for getting into such a pointless squabble with the Twi'lek and it'll be good to put it behind him. "About that, my lord. I must apologize for my behavior earlier. It was unprofessional of me and it won't happen again."

"It's forgiven," she says instantly, all her earlier anger apparently burned off, "If I punished people for their anger I would be the galaxy's greatest hypocrite. Similarly, I must apologize for yelling at you and Vette earlier."

That's absurd, she was right to yell at them earlier. And besides, she's the commanding officer on board. It's her prerogative. "There's no need to apologize, my lord."

She bats his hands away as he finishes wrapping her most recent injury, "I'm fine now," she says, tugging her ruined shirt back over her head to cover up the white bandages.

"Please try not to reopen it." He says pointlessly. So far, his guess is that she'll at the very least strain it.

"I'll endeavor to," she replies with a tiny smile, "But Quinn, while I am no longer angry with you, I do want you to understand why I _was_. Vette was indeed rude to you, but you weren't kind to her either. Vette is... I think she's my friend. I need both of you in my crew, and that means I can't have the two of you at each other's throats all the time. And what's more," she continues before he can speak, "you didn’t have a good reason. I don't have a problem with you speaking freely - this isn't a standard ship - but you weren't voicing a concern or protesting anything that concerns our work. You were just being rude."

"I-" Malavai takes a deep breath and reminds himself that she _is_ right, "I understand, my lord."

Gimrizh nods, "Good. Why does Vette irritate you?"

Direct and to the point. "She has no respect for you, my lord," he says honestly, "She's rude to you and has no sense of proper hierarchy."

"Vette doesn't care about titles," she sums up, "I don't either. I don't care what Vette calls me, I don't have a title, and I'm not one for a rigid class structure in general, let alone on this ship. Don’t worry about what Vette calls me, honestly, I’m not insulted. For that matter, you really don't have to call me 'lord' either."

"That," he says sharply, "Would be very unprofessional of me, _my lord_. You are my commanding officer and it wouldn’t do to show you disrespect.”

She hums thoughtfully and gives him a look, "You're speaking from experience. That's why you're so formal and that's why Vette bothers you so much. You disobeyed a superior, didn't you?" And she says it so confidently and so certainly that it shocks Malavai. It occurs to him for the first time that she's been studying him just as much as he's been studying her.

"Ah," he sighs and then resigns himself to telling her his regrettable history. "Do you know anything about the Battle of Druckenwell, my lord?"

She thinks for a moment and then nods, "Yes, I think. Space battle in the last few months of the war; an Imperial victory."

"It almost wasn't," he says bitterly, "I fought in that battle, under Moff Broysc. He made a critical oversight during the battle and refused to listen when I pointed it out. So I disobeyed his orders. I managed to turn the tide back in the Empire's favor."

He'd almost say that she looks impressed. "Then you are to be commended," she says sincerely, "That is _quite_ an achievement."

"The Moff disagreed with you," Malavai counters. "He took credit for my actions - my _victory,_ even though he opposed me at every turn. And then he had me court martialed."

Gimrizh goes very still, "This _Moff_ ," she says, spitting the word, "must be a complete moron."

After that argument earlier, it's good to be in complete agreement with her, "He's an utter fool. And he's still in power."

She gives him a bitter sort of smile, "If I ever see him, I'll kill him for you. How's that sound?"

"And deny me that opportunity?" He jokes. They both know it's a futile jest. Taking out fellow Sith is one thing, that's an inter-sphere conflict. A Moff is above both of them and falls under the Military's sphere of power, not the Siths'. No, and that's one of the things that Malavai hates most about Broysc. He can't even kill the man and save others from that level of incompetence.

“I’m sorry, Quinn,” She says, gently laying her hand on his arm, “For what it’s worth, I think you’re a fine officer and you deserve better than what you got.”

Her hand feels like a hot brand through his jacket and he pulls back, moving around the med bay and putting the supplies back on their shelves. “It looks like my luck has turned around - you’re an excellent person to serve under, my lord.”

There’s a quiet beeping of a holo communicator. Gimrizh pulls out her comm and opens the data file that she just received.

“Halidrell’s found where Rathari’s men are,” she says right away, standing up with only the faintest of winces, “They’re trying to force out a squad of the Republic garrison as we speak.” She flashes him one of her thin, tight lipped smiles, “I know you’re against fighting other Imperials, but we don’t have a choice here. Not if I want to follow Darth Baras’ orders.”

“I’ll follow your lead, my lord.” He grabs his blaster and follows her out of the med bay, wondering when exactly she picked up on his reluctance to complete this portion of their mission.

~*~

Vette strolls through the glowing streets of Nar Shaddaa’s Promenade with only a slight glower in her step. She loves this planet, she really does. Loves it with every breath she takes of it’s nasty air and every whiff of spice. Loves the crazy fake-gold decals on vendor stalls and the trashy looking plant holos. She remembers, back when she lived here, that there were dozens of rumors about Hutts using decorative holos to cover up dead bodies in public. Perhaps the Hutts are the only thing she _dislikes_ about this planet.

It’s been a long time since she’s been here and every step she takes feels like a dozen old memories that have grown dusty from disuse. She can remember her very first steps on this planet, the very first time she entered the Mezenti spaceport with wide eyes and a handful of credits in her pockets. At first, she had been scared of this planet, this never ending city that just keeps on being loud and bright and booming without reprieve. She had been just a young teenager the first time and all alone. Nok Drayen had vanished, his crew scattered, and Risha disappeared like a whisper in the wind. Vette had been abandoned on Hutta after Drayen left. She’d pawned a run down droid off to a fencer to get enough credits for a shuttle ride to the smuggler’s moon.

And she’s never regretted it. Not during all the shit that happened to her on this planet, and there’s a lot of shit that can happen to a young Twi’lek girl in a place full of lawbreakers. But one of the good things that she found about the racism that plagues the galaxy is that it’s very easy for Twi’leks to find each other. That’s where almost all the good memories come from. Not those first few months of a being a scared little girl abandoned on the smuggler’s moon after years of working under the galaxy’s most infamous pirate.

No, the good memories come from working with her Twi’lek gang. Flash, Plasmajack, Taunt, and her. The four of them against anyone who wanted to destroy Ryloth’s history. She’d felt like she was working for a _cause_ , for something bigger than herself. Those had been good times. And then she’d had to go and screw it up. Taking jobs as an assassin, going after bigger and bigger targets. And then she’d hit Korriban, thinking that nothing could ever bring her down.

She brings her hand up to brush against the back of her slave collar. Being born a slave is a shit hand in life, but going back to that place after having been free for so long felt worse than she remembered. Like the galaxy is laughing at her for daring to think that she could be more than just another alien slave. Working for Gimrizh isn’t a bad place, no, but she’s _still_ a slave and she’s _still_ stuck with this force-damned collar to constantly remind her that she’s right back where she started.

If only she could take this stupid thing off. But it’s programed to shock her if she tries it herself and Gimrizh holds the keys to her release. She hasn’t asked the Sith to take it off yet. In truth, she has no idea what Gimrizh would say. Gimrizh doesn’t act like most Imperials or like most Sith, but she still _is_ one of them and probably shares their dumb views. Which is a shame really, the Zabrak probably deals with a lot of internalized racism. Asking for the collar off is a gamble. Before they left Balmorra, Vette was thinking about risking it though. Maybe be really nice for a week and then broach the conversation over a glass of fancy liquor and then bye-bye shock collar.

But then Gimrizh let that stuffy officer on board and Vette had needed to reconsider asking at all. She doesn't want to think in a 'if you're not with me you're against me' kind of way, but letting Quinn join their crew feels a lot like Gimrizh is giving his racist options a stamp of approval. That irritates her more than the man himself. She had thought that she and Gimrizh were together on this - two aliens stuck in an Empire that will never accept them. Outsiders, sure, but outsiders together, with shared experiences and opinions.

She sighs and turns to look at the nearest techie's stall. Toovee needs a better power coupling and she'd like to get some neat custom parts so that her blasters can pack a bigger punch. Poor Toovee, she almost feels bad for leaving him in the ship with all his parts exposed. Gimrizh doesn't want her messing with the droid too much and she can respect that. But he has a bad habit of messing up her workspace and she'd thought that's a easy fix and then she'd thought about strengthening some of his joints and then before she knew it she's spread half his guts out in the engine room. Slippery slope, that droid.

A familiar cantina sign catches her eye. Well, apparently her day is picking up.

She happily strides into the cantina and snags a scarf off the shoulders of a passed-out drunk Weequay to wrap around her neck before she takes a seat at the bar. She remembers this place from back during her gang days, and it’s almost surprising that it’s still standing. Their little Twi’lek gang used to come here after a particularly successful job. Good cantina for parties, and damn good Corellian whiskey too.  

It hasn’t changed a bit. Same paint job, same crappy stools, same dejarik table in the back. Hells is that the same bartender?

“Vette?” The Togruta guy behind the bar gapes at her and then grins, “Damn, what happened to you? I haven’t seen you in almost a year! One day you were here and then you just up and vanished!”

She easily returns his grin, “Well if it ain’t Darun the tiny Togruta!”

“Ah hells I forgot you used to call me that,” he grumbles, “I’m not _that_ short. And I’ve got a good couple decades of age on you.”

“Please, you’re shorter than me when I was fourteen,” she jokes.

He groans comically, “Got me there, kid.” He pours her a glass of her favorite whiskey without having to be asked - he knows her tastes well, “So tell me, what’ve you been up to? Left Nar Shaddaa in a real hurry almost a year ago and no one’s heard a peep from you since. Now, boom, you’re back. Must be quite the story you got.”

She takes a heavy swig of her drink to avoid answering right away. And _damn_ , it is just as good as she remembers. Heavy and strong, with a nice kick and good flavor. “Yup, it’s been a long haul. You’ll _never_ believe what happened to me, Darun.”

“Well I can’t believe what I ain’t hearing,” he says, refilling her glass.

“Okay so,” she begins, “About a year ago I heard this rumor about a Ryloth artifact on Korriban, in some tomb. Spent some time digging into it, which is about when I left Nar Shaddaa. I met a Twi’lek contact on Hutta who said she had info about this ‘artifact’. Turned out, she was lying through her teeth and there’s nothing from Ryloth on Korriban, go figure. Dumb of me, I know, why the hells would Ryloth treasures be on a Sith pureblood planet?”

He shakes his head knowingly, “Can’t trust sources sometimes. Happens to the best of us, kid.”

With another gulp of whiskey, she shrugs, “Eh. It actually kind of worked out? I think? So when I was casing this tomb on Korriban, I found a secret entrance inside that not even the Sith knew about. Well, there’s no Ryloth treasures locked up there, but there are plenty of _other_ treasures free for the stealing. So I figured… why not check it out and see what I can scoop up while I’m here.”

“Reasonable,” he agrees, “Why pass up a free score like that? What’s Korriban like?”

She gives an iffy wave of her hand, “Hot. Boring. Way too many Sith. As expected, really. But yeah, that was my thinking. Why not go for the big payload while I was there, right?”

“I’d guess things got complicated, but you’re still alive so...” Darun queries.

“Complicated ain’t the half of it my friend,” she tells him, “I got caught breaking into the tomb. Got thrown into a jail cell in the Sith Academy and spent kriffing _months_ down there with a trigger happy jailer. _Not_ fun. At all. _Trust_ me.”

He slides her a new glass, knowing that the best way to get information out of a mouth is if that mouth has been drinking heavily, “Going by the fact that you’re sitting pretty in my bar, you got out. Did you break out in a daring escape? Everyone talks about Sith like they’re damn spooks - I figured that their Academy would be damn near inescapable.”

“It wasn’t a break out,” she admits, thinking back to that time when Gimrizh had stalked into her cell and Vette had been so certain that ‘this is it, this damn Sith’s gonna be the end of me’. And then, she had kept on living and started thinking of ‘that damn Sith’ as someone who could almost be a friend. “A Sith let me go.”

Darun gapes at her, “You’re shitting me. Sith don’t _let_ people go.”

She gestures to herself, “And yet here I am. Sith let me out. I helped her break into that tomb that got my fool ass caught in the first place and… well… I’ve been with her ever since. Had to board a fucking _Republic Warship_ during a space battle. Saw Drumond Kaas - _left_ Drumond Kaas, which was unexpected. Headed to that warzone of a planet Balmorra. We’ve even got our own starship now, a sweet Interceptor that flies like magic with a good pilot at the helm.”

“Wow,” he whistles appreciatively.

“I _know_.”

“Damn.”

“Right?”

“I’d say you’re lying through your teeth if it weren’t too fucking crazy,” Darun agrees.

She nods her head slowly, “Can’t make this shit up.”

"How'd you make your way back here?" He asks, waving at the entirety of his cantina, "Gave your Sith the old slip?"

Vette laughs and to her surprise it doesn't ring as true as she thought, "Nah. She's off with some asshole officer we picked up on Balmorra. Doing super top secret Sith stuff. I got vacation time, was wandering around the Promenade looking for power converters, and then saw that your place is still up and running."

"Sith give vacation time?" Darun raises an eyebrow curiously.

This question is one she's slightly less comfortable answering, "This Sith does," she says blandly.

"Damn," he says again, "Did you say you've got an Interceptor?"

Ah, ships. Darun's one weakness. Besides credits of course, but that's _everyone's_ weakness. " _Oh yeah,_ " she says with a grin, "Brand new, one of the Imperial _Fury_ models. Got a great interior, way more space than the older designs and a better layout. It's hyperdrive is a real nice bit of tech - and _oh_ the sub-light engines are a thing of pure beauty. I swooned when I saw them."

He chuckles, "Have you started messing with 'em yet?"

"Noooo," she whines, "I want to but they're so perfect. There's no improvements I can make that wouldn't mess the whole thing up. Whoever designed them is a damn miracle worker and should be protected as a galactic treasure."

"That good then?" He says, holding in a burst of laughter, "I know how you are with shiny tech. How's the thing handle?"

She drains her glass in one sip, "Like a dream. And not a weird 'falling and can't wake up' dream. More like those dreams with hot guys and slow orgasms.  _That_ kind of dream. And _I_ get to fly her. Turns out, Sith's not a great pilot so I got to fly our baby to Balmorra. If we ever get a new ship I'll have a memorial for this one."

"Sounds drop dead gorgeous."

"She's fucking fabulous."

"Do I get to see her?"

Vette's wise to that old trick, "And run off with her, leaving me standing in the spaceport without a ship? I know you too well Darun. Good try but no luck."

He laughs again, grabbing her glass before she can finish all the whiskey in the cantina, "Can't blame an old man for trying. Hey, are you gonna see that gang of yours before you and that ship elope?"

She sits up straight as a nail, "You've been keeping in touch with my gang? You know where they are?"

"Sure do," he tells her, "They're still here, still drop in every so often to say hi to me and my liquor. Still robbing people blind - but that's your way I suppose."

"Where are they now?" She asks. If they're still here on Nar Shaddaa she can see the old gang again. Things won't be the same as they were but there's no harm in pretending for a while. It'd be nice to act like her whole life hasn't turned upside down again.

Darun shrugs, "Off on their usual bouts of daring-do through the galaxy. I think they headed to Coruscant, last I heard. They should be back in two or three weeks. How long you staying here?"

Not that long. They might spend a few more days hunting down this spy, but unless anything goes seriously wrong, that fucked up Baras will send Gimrizh off to another section of the galaxy as soon as they're done. There's no chance they'll still be here in two weeks. "No way in hells I'll be here that long," she says glumly.

"That's a real shame," Darun laments, "But you know, if you want, you don't gotta stay with that Sith. I got space, I could put you up for a couple weeks till your gang gets back, and force knows I know you well enough. You'd be leaving that sexy ship behind, but you'd be home free."

Could she even _do_ that? She's got a decent gig with Gimrizh but... She misses her old gang. They'd been through a lot together and and those had been some damn good times. Once she got caught on Korriban she'd figured that she'd never see them again. To go back to her old line of work, stealing back her cultural treasures, it'd be a gift.

But she's still hesitant and she's not really sure why. It should be an easy snap decision for her and instead it isn't. She's a collared slave now and owned by Gimrizh, even if it doesn't feel that way, and being a slave makes it hard for her to just run off. But no, that's not really the reason why she's unsure either.

She _likes_ it with Gimrizh. While hectic and downright insane, the work they do has a thrill that can't be found anywhere else. She likes their ship, that stupid fussy droid, how they haven't hit the same planet twice. And she likes Gimrizh herself. The girl's barely a year or so older than Vette but she's mature. Reasonable. Clever. Even funny. Despite being a Sith and deadlier than a rabid gundark, she can actually be _kind_ . And Vette sees someone who needs people, someone who's been alone for a long time and can't remember what company is like. Someone who hates themself so much it's hard to separate the self loathing from the real person. She sees herself, before Nok Drayen came and whisked her away into the stars. She almost _pities_ Gimrizh because the Sith hasn't yet figured out what Vette learned years ago.

Vette's not sure if she wants to get off the train before she sees where it's headed. Even though Gimrizh has the ambition of a snail, Vette can't imagine her fading into obscurity without having first made a big splash in the galaxy.

"I don't know," she says at last, "I'll think about it, see how things turn out. Either way, I'll let you know before I skip town."

He smiles at her, "You're a good kid, Vette. Deserve a lot more than what the galaxy threw at you."

"Aww, so sweet. Are my drinks on the house then?" she teases.

He just snorts in amusement, "No way."

~*~

They race back to Halidrell’s shop as fast as they can, but Gimrizh has no doubts that they won’t make it. There’s no way they can cut across town faster than someone can shoot a blaster or faster than Rathari can swing his lightsaber. No, the real question is what they’ll find along with Halidrell’s corpse.

She holds up a hand before the two of them burst into the shop. There’s a ripple in the force that can only mean danger ahead of them. Likely Rathari left a couple of soldiers behind as a trap. A poor trap, given that she handily defeated his apprentice and no soldiers can really compare to that, but still a trap nonetheless. If they’re Rathari’s men, that means they’re Imperials, which means she’ll have to fall back on non-lethal combat. Quinn and her do agree on that, that they shouldn’t be killing their own troopers who just happen to work for the wrong person. The Empire doesn’t need more dead soldiers.

“Rathari left some of his soldiers behind,” she whispers to Quinn as she unclips her lightsaber from her belt, “Watch my six.”

He gives her a quick nod and sets his blaster to stun. As she creeps towards the entrance she wishes that there’s a stun setting for a lightsaber. But there isn't, and she leaves her blade unlit as she slides behind the nearest guard.

With a single lightning fast movement, she rushes the guard, clamping her hand over his mouth to keep his quiet and then slamming the hilt of her blade into his temple. The soldier goes limp in her arms and she silently lowers him down to the floor.

Next to her she sees Quinn doing the same, using the hard durasteel of his blaster to render the second guard unconscious without firing a single shot.

They head to the end of the office hall and Gimrizh presses her back against the cold metal wall, glancing over her shoulder to get a look at whoever’s left in the office. There’s another pair of guards pacing the edges of the office, carrying blaster rifles and keeping a much more careful eye out than the last two, but no matter. She hardly needs to be silent anymore, now she just needs to manage to not kill them.

She strides into the office, causing both soldiers to shout and start firing at her.

It takes more effort than she thought it would not to activate her saber and deflect the bolts, but she keeps it unlit and resorts to dodging the fire, spinning out of the way as fast as she can. If she tried deflecting them, she might send a bolt somewhere she doesn't want it to go and kill one of them. That's not the way she's trying to play this. It's a challenge, keeping her opponents alive, and not one she normally entertains.

She rushes the nearest guard and kicks his blaster out of his hands. While he tries to draw his sidearm, she grabs his blaster herself and strikes him with the butt of the weapon. He crumples like flimsiplast and she she whirls around to fend off the last opponent only to see him on the ground, clutching a bleeding leg.

Quinn fires a second shot, a stunner this time, and then the guard's out cold.

"Nice shot," she says. She puts her unused lightsaber away and looks around the room. It's mostly empty, the previously filled slave cages are abandoned and there are only a few corpses - mostly Halidrell's skeleton security force.

One slightly smaller body catches her eye and Gimrizh kneels down next to Halidrell's body. She checks for pulse absently, knowing before her fingers even touch cold skin that Halidrell's dead. There's no pulse in the force that would come from a living person. There's just stillness.

No obvious injuries though, no lightsaber burns or wounds from a blaster. It looks like she just fell over and died, "How..." Gimrizh murmurs to herself before she puts two and two together and answers the question, "Rathari led this attack personally. He's not hiding anymore."

"My lord," Quinn says, holding a holo recorder that's steadily flashing a red light, "I believe there's a message for you."

She hastily snatches up the recorder and sets it to play the message. "Let's see what Rathari has to say for himself."

Two bright figures appear in the holo, one a man wearing a heavy cloak and the other Halidrell. Halidrell is dangling from midair, her hands clasping at her throat as she tries to grasp for breath. A moment later and Rathari lets her fall.

Rathari turns to them and his slimy voice speaks, "I received your message. If you want Dellocon, you want me. Meet me at my platform on the roof of the Network Access satellite tower and we'll end this. I look forward to killing you - and then I'll go after Baras."

The message ends and Gimrizh tosses the holo recorder to the floor.

“Well.” she says sharply, “I’m going to go kill Rathari and Dellocon then. Feel free to come along Captain, though I won’t blame you if you want to stay behind. I doubt Rathari is just going to _surrender_.”

He looks mildly offended by the fact that she doubts his commitment, although to be fair, not many people would reasonably want to walk into a fight between Sith. “I would hardly abandon you, my lord. But are you certain this is the best course of action? We will be walking straight into Rathari’s trap and he’ll have his own soldiers there as well.”  
“I don’t doubt it,” Gimrizh agrees, “But we won’t be alone either. I spared Commander Naughlen earlier - he’ll return the favor now.”

~*~

Gimrizh strides into Rathari's trap, projecting as much false confidence and she can muster. Her eyes dart briefly to the few people she can see on the platform in front of her and then to the left where Quinn and the pub soldiers are hiding, waiting for the right moment to strike. That group has taken the high ground, they're in an ideal place to take out any potential threats from a mile away and keep a solid eye on the battlefield. It's a position that she thinks will suit the Captain well, although she knows he's not as happy working with soldiers who fight the Empire for a living.

Despite every bone in her body screaming at her to do so, she keeps her hands off her lightsaber. She walks out onto the platform, apparently defenseless.

The satellite platform is a huge open air station, surrounded on all sides by the looming skyscrapers of Nar Shaddaa. Convenient for her. Those massive buildings provided an easy vantage point for Quinn and the pubs. She just hopes Rathari's as overconfident as she thinks. And in the center of the platform is an open, active, power containment unit cradling a beam of energy between two chargers. Maybe she can throw Rathari into it.

Standing in the center of the platform, calm as can be, is Rathari. He's a solid foot taller than her and wearing heavy armour under a dark cloak. Next to him, almost unnoticeable, is a nervous sort of man who matches Dellocon's description.

She comes to a stop a good couple of meters away from the two and draws a thin smile on her face, "Rathari, Dellocon. Pleasure to meet the two of you in the flesh."

"Ah, so Baras' goon has finally arrived," Rathari says in a low, slick voice, "It is foolish of you to come alone. You lack your master's caution."

That's what _he_ thinks. She almost wants to tell him now, just to see the look on his face. But the surprise will be sweeter if she waits till the right moment. She just has to keep Rathari's attention on her so that he has no reason to reach out in the force and sense her companions on the nearby rooftop.

"And you lack a power base," she retorts, "I'd apologize for that, but destroying your holdings here was quite fun."

Rathari doesn't look quite so amused, "I can see why Baras keeps a creature like you around. You might make a good pet."

"Look," Dellocon interjects, finally speaking up, "Baras is paranoid. My cover was intact, I was in no danger of being discovered. What did Baras expect? For me to just wait for my death without putting up a fight? No way."

Gimrizh gives him a scathing look, "You knew the risks of the job when you took it."

"And I know how to avoid them," Dellocon replies, "I'll tell Rathari everything, all of Baras' secrets and he'll keep me safe."

Rathari grins menacingly, "In a hundred years, when I rule the Dark Council, my murder of you and Baras won't even be a footnote in my history."

"How do you manage to hold a lightsaber when you're so busy carrying around such a massive ego?" she comments.

He doesn't bother responding to that but she can see a twitch of a facial muscle. Good, she's getting to him. The more irritated by her he is, the less likely he'll spot her reinforcements before it's time.

"I won't duel you," he tells her pompously, "You haven't earned that honor."

"A lord of the Sith should keep his word," she says, "You talk about honor but do you have any yourself?"

He presses a button on a wrist comm panel and a door at the end of the platform slides open. A half dozen soldiers brandishing blasters creep out, moving to surround Gimrizh.

"The Sith Order is built on lies," Rathari says confidently, "I'll have you fight my men - they've been trained to take out Sith."

Rathari's troops circle Gimrizh with guns at the ready. She has no doubt that it might be a tad challenging to face them all at once, but that's not the plan. They knew, before she walked into this trap, that Rathari would bring backup. And that's what they had planned for. Everything is going perfectly.

She just stands there, not drawing her weapon, not even flinching. If she starts running around, the snipers on the rooftops will be more likely to hit her as well and she can't have that. The pubs aren't exactly going to be careful with her life.

"Oh dear I'm so overwhelmed, whatever shall I do?" She drawls flatly.

"You were overconfident!" Rathari tells her, "And that will be your downfall. Men, attack-!"

Two of his men fall to the ground with smoldering holes in their heads.

As the rest of the squad moves to try and find the shooter, bolts take them down as well, thin pops of noise followed by a dead corpse collapsing to the floor. Soon, it's just Gimrizh, standing confidently in a circle of dead bodies.

"Did I mention I brought friends?" She says pleasantly.

Rathari snarls at her, "You- I should have sensed them. What did you do?"

"I talked to you," she tells him honestly, "You did the rest for me."

Now she ignites her lightsaber with a flourish, stepping over the corpse in front of her to move towards her real enemy.

A second later, Rathari switches on his own bright red saber and moves to engage her.

She flings her blade up to block his initial strike and holds firm as their sabers clash with a hiss of energy. Quinn can't help her with this part of the fight, she's on her own against Rathari. She doesn't know if she can beat him, but she doesn't have a choice about trying. She's done what she can to tip the odds in her favor and now the rest comes down to pure skill.

He pulls back and then slices his blade through where her neck had been a moment ago. Gimrizh is already spinning behind him to slash at his unprotected back.

The red of her blade burns at his heavy durasteel armour for a second before he brings his sword back to throw her off. Unharmed, but enraged, he stabs at her with renewed fury, following his initial strike with a number of hard sharp slashes aimed at her torso.

She throws herself to the ground and rolls out of the way, coming up on her knees to block a strong overhead attack from Rathari.

Sparks hit her face as she holds his saber off her by mere inches. He's got a good deal more physical strength than she does and when it comes down to these contests of just pushing on each other's blades, she's outmatched. Fortunately, she's used to being small and combat isn't just based in muscle.

Still keeping his saber locked with hers, she rises to her feet and then kicks him in the gut.

Rathari gasps and stumbles back, freeing Gimrizh up to go on the offensive and strike.

He quickly deflects her attacks and lunges. His blade flashes towards her head and she agiley twists out of the way of his saber. Her gaze flickers to the power containment unit in front of her and she gets an idea.

As Rathari slashes at her again, she locks her saber with his and pushes his blade to the side, ripping a hole in his defenses. She slams her palm into his chest and uses the force to send him flying.

Right into the open power beam.

The raw energy of the beam holds him in place as lightning crackles around him, a different kind of power than force lightning. The energy tears screams from him, constant screams as he tries to free himself. Gimrizh winces, but doesn't look away.

Suddenly the force cries out to her and she turns to see Dellocon holding a blaster to her head.

Before she can put her lightsaber to his flesh, a blast from the rooftop brings him down. _A crack shot indeed_ , she thinks appreciatively.

She looks back to the power unit just in time to see Rathari blast himself free with a burst of force energy. He falls to the ground in front of her, trying to push himself up and failing as his body spasms. Nerve damage, at a guess. She's seen and experienced a similar, if lessened, effect from force lightning. If she intends for him to live, he'd need medical attention as soon as possible to avoid permanent damage. Unluckily for him, she had no intention of letting him live.

"I- I've never seen such raw power," he sputters, "I surrender. You've won this fight."

Pity. She can't let him live, after all, but it's nice to finally hear a bit of politeness from his mouth, "You've lost, Rathari," she agrees, walking towards him with her lit blade in hand, "But my master has ordered you dead and so dead you must be."

And before he can get another word out, she brings down her blade.

His head rolls to the ground and then the rest of his body follows with a heavy thud.

Rathari, check. Dellocon, check. That's everything done then.

She turns on her comm link and holds it up to speak, "Quinn, we're finished here. Meet me inside with Commander Naughlin and his men please."

" _We're on our way, my lord_ ," Quinn says through the static of the comm.

She closes the line and checks the power unit to make sure she didn't cause it undue damage. It wouldn't do to accidentally cause an explosion or something. The levels are steady when she checks, and although the power is fluctuating a bit things look fine. Having Rathari in the power beam apparently didn't have any lasting negative effects. She steps over his corpse as she walks back into the tower.

An elevator carrying Quinn and Commander Naughlin's squad arrived a moment after she does.

"Captain, Commander," she greets, "Excellent work up there, it would have been a much worse fight if I hadn't had help."

Naughlin, a grim sort of man, nods solemnly and says, "Then our debt is paid. There's no one left but you and us now, may we go?"

They _have_ earned it. They helped a great deal and it wouldn't be right to take back her word at the last minute, "Go in peace, Commander. Thank you for your help."

He almost salutes, thinks better of it, and then just gives her another nod before he and his men turn and walk away.

Gimrizh and Quinn watch them leave in silence. She's content with her decision, but she can tell the Captain isn't quite sure about simply letting enemy soldiers go. It's an understandable sentiment. But Nar Shaddaa is neutral, and the war hasn't started up again just yet. It won't be long though. The treaty won't last and she wonders if one day she'll find herself killing the men that she just spared.

"Thank you, Quinn," she says as the pubs vanish from her senses.

He looks somewhat confused as he adjusts the heavy rifle he's carrying to rest on his back, "For what, my lord?"

The corner of her mouth tugs up into a smile, "For going along with my fool plan. I know you didn't want me to spare those Republic soldiers and I know you didn't trust them. Thank you for trusting that I knew what I was doing. Oh, and thanks for killing Dellocon."

"You're welcome," he says after a moment's thought, "If you don't mind me asking, how did you know it was me who shot the agent?"

"It was obvious," she says vaguely. "Now let's head back to the ship. We need to report back to Darth Baras and then we're probably off this planet. Vette will be devastated that her vacation is cut short."

He hesitates and then says again, "I do apologize, my lord."

"And I said it's forgiven. But I'm not the one you need to apologize to," she tells him.

"... Right, my lord." He says at last, and the thought of apologizing to Vette seems to be one he dislikes, far more than apologizing to Gimrizh.

She strides out of the satellite center with a good deal more spring in her step than before, "Don't worry. We'll be off this planet soon at least. We're always on the move it seems."

"It'll be good to leave," Quinn says distastefully, "It's not often that I so vehemently agree with Lord Baras, but Nar Shaddaa really is a horrid planet."

She thinks about the place and has to admit that she isn't so sure. It's filthy and crowded and full of light, but there's something about it that she enjoys. It feels like a place where she could go anywhere, try anything, or be anyone. "I don't mind it here," she says thoughtfully, "It isn't as bad as I was expecting."

~*~

“Mistress Vette, my programing does not have the capability to master the game of dejarik,” Toovee protests.

“Not yet it doesn’t,” Vette say cheerfully as she downloads her program onto a data wafer, where she can plug it into Toovee’s data banks, “Just sit tight and you’ll be beating every two-bit gangster and spacer from here to pub space.”

The droid sits perfectly still as she returns to putting all his screws back in place. She does feel a bit badly about leaving him all strung out for a number of hours, but at least he’s mostly intact now. She’s left the back panel of his data bank open so that she can make the download, but everything else is mostly back to where it belongs. Her right lekku starts itching and she uses the hydrospanner to scratch it. “How’re you feeling, Toovee? Circuits doing alright?”

“I am running at peak efficiently, Mistress Vette,” he chimes, “However, my central data bank is currently exposed.”

She checks the program download, “Yeah, I’ll have that fixed in a minute.”

There’s a metallic clank that makes her put the hydrospanner down and scowl. That’s the main hatch opening, which means Gimrizh and Quinn are back. Great. The one person that she really doesn’t want to deal with and the one person that she’s not sure whether or not she’s going to abandon. What a wonderful pair of people that she doesn’t particularly feel like talking to right now.

But she gets up and heads out of the engine room anyways, pointing at Toovee on the way out, “Don’t head anywhere, you’re still plugged in.”

She heads into the main room and flops down on the couch, crossing her arms stubbornly. “Hey,” she says, watching Gimrizh move to sit near her and Quinn put a sniper rifle away in the arm’s cabinet. What the hells did he need a sniper rifle for? Ah well, she doesn’t care. Gimrizh takes off her heavy belt and the lightsaber attached to it and places the thing on the table with a quiet clatter.

“Hello Vette,” Gimrizh says pleasantly, leaning back and running a hand through her hair, “Everything’s done here, we’ve got the spy Baras sent us here for and Rathari’s dead as well. We should be back into more neutral space within the day. Once Nar Shaddaa’s behind us, I’ll holo Baras and see where we’re going next.”

Vette shrugs. She doesn’t know if she’ll be on this ship when it leaves the planet. It’s a thought she’s still turning over in her head. “Right.”

Apparently Gimrizh isn’t going to let her go without some conversation, “Is Toovee up and running again?”

“Yeah,” Vette says, “He’s back in one piece. Should be ready to go once the ship’s flying.”

“Good,” Gimrizh sighs and then calls out, “Quinn, get in here. We need to have a discussion. Vette, you too, I see you trying to get up.”

Vette slinks back into her seat and Quinn appears at the med bay door before edging into the main room to join them. Oh great, this is going to be _talk_. On her list of things she wanted to do today, getting yelled at by both the Captain and the Sith is probably near the bottom, right below being shot. Sure, she was a bit mean earlier, but mr fussy totally deserved it. And he had been a right asshole to her as well, so her feelings of regret are a bit on the nonexistent side.

The first person to speak is Gimrizh, no real surprise there, “Vette, I’d like to apologize to you for yelling at you earlier.” And she says it with such _sincerity_ that all Vette’s retorts die on her lips, “And for not addressing your concerns earlier.”  
While Vette’s just flapping her jaw, trying to think of something to say, Gimrizh coughs not so subtly and gives Quinn a look.

He clears his throat, “I apologize as well. Please forgive my rudeness.”

Oh well _great_ , now Vette’s going to look like a complete asshole if she doesn’t say sorry as well. They’ve got her trapped alright, but to her mild surprise, she isn’t as upset by that as she thinks she should be, “Yeah, okay, I’m sorry too, alright? Shouldn’t have said all that stuff about you not having any honor and all that.”

She won’t take back that comment she made about him being a racist, though. That she’s sticking by. But ah hells, yeah she’s an adult, she can get past a little argument. Or well, not a legal adult, but she’s adult enough. She can be mature about this. Sometimes she thinks she’s the most mature person on this ship. Toovee doesn’t count.

“Good,” Gimrizh comments in a tone that makes it clear that everything _is_ good, had better _be_ good, and that no one wants to know what she’s going to do if things _aren’t_ good. “Captain, prep the engines and makes sure the ship is ready for takeoff when I get back.”

“Yes, my lord,” he says with a nod and then vanishes into the bridge.

Gimrizh stands up and gives Vette an expectant look, “Come outside with me, I want to speak with you.”

Giving a dramatic groan, Vette reluctantly follows Gimrizh out of the ship. They head down the gangplank and into the spaceport proper, and the whole time Gimrizh doesn’t say anything, just keeps heading towards the spaceport exit.

“Is there somewhere in particular we’re going?” Vette asks as they pass a row of elevators and a gang of overly enthusiastic Cathar.

Gimrizh gives her a faint smile and keeps walking, “Just headed outside.”

They step out into the open air and loiter near the edge of the spaceport. A number of taxis and private speeders wait by the drop off point, hoping to attract customers. A steady stream of people wander past, some carrying luggage, some obviously Cartel members patrolling the spaceport as it’s probably the only part of Nar Shaddaa that’s not completely dominated by the Hutts. Vette kicks a piece of rubbish off the edge that’s only a few feet away from them. It skitters off the concrete they’re standing on and falls off the huge drop.

“So what’s up?” Vette asks glumly.

GImrizh sighs and looks out at the massive, sprawling city, “I wanted to apologize. I know you don’t like Captain Quinn, but I still shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“It’s in the past,” Vette says with a wave of her hand, even though it does feel a lot better to hear another apology, “I’m not going to hold a grudge. Well, not much of one anyways. Besides, he said sorry so at least he knows he was in the wrong.”

“That’s… not all I wanted to apologize for,” Gimrizh admits after a pause, “I had almost begun to forget - that you’re still a slave. You don’t act like one and I’m hardly a standard slave owner that I just stopped thinking about it. Here,” she holds out the shock trigger that she’s never used, “Take it. I’ll take the collar off too.”  
Vette gingerly takes the small metallic device and stares at it, “You - really?”

She nods and then steps forward to reach behind Vette’s neck and disable the collar. Vette feels a strange pinching sensation as the collar releases itself from her skin and then, for the first time in almost a year, a warm breeze on her skin. Then Gimrizh hands her the collar.

“I-” Vette sputters, unable to form a coherent thought, “But I didn’t ask.”

“You shouldn’t have needed to ask,” Gimrizh says firmly, “I should have done that the day I met you.”

Vette staggers forward and then throws her arms around Gimrizh. The Sith tenses up at the unexpected hug, but Vette just pulls her in tighter. “Thank you thank you thank you!” She squeals, “I fucking hated that thing so much! You are the _nicest_! Have I told you lately how nice you are? I need to say it more often!”

Gimrizh awkwardly tries to step back and push Vette away, “No need for that. Really.”

“Right, of course,” The Twi’lek says with a wink, “Wouldn’t want to ruin your fearsome Sithy-ness by spreading talk of niceness.”

This is more familiar ground for the both of them. “I do have a reputation to maintain,” Gimrizh comments.

“Right,” Vette looks down at the two bits of metal in her hands. She’d always thought that one day she’d get the damn thing off, but it’d stayed on for so long that she almost started to doubt it. Now that it’s finally gone, her neck feels lighter and it’s easier to hold her head up high. “What should I do with this hunk of rubbish?”

“Whatever you want,” Gimrizh tells her, “I’m not going to tell you what to do.”

Vette glances back down at the collar and then looks out at the city. Let the thing rot on Nar Shaddaa like everything else does on this planet. She doesn’t want to carry it with her a second longer. She draws back her arm and throws the whole thing off the edge of the spaceport. It careens over into open air and then disappears from her sight forever.

“Good riddance,” Vette spits over the edge.

Gimrizh steps back and tilts her head back towards the spaceport, “I’m going to head back for the ship. You have two hours before we leave Nar Shaddaa. If you want to stay here, I understand. You’re not bound to me, not anymore and I won’t force you to stay with me if you don’t want to. I know that my line of work is dangerous and I know that you don’t get along with Quinn. You aren’t obligated to remain with me.”

No. She isn’t. Not at all. Nothing’s stopping from staying on this planet that she loves so much. Vette beams, “I’ll be back in two hours.”

~*~

“Hey Darun!”

The Togruta looks up from wiping down his bar and puts his hands on his hips with a grin, “Vette! Kid! Back the next day, aren’t you punctual? Got any news, or are you just here for more of my damn fine booze?”

She slides on up to him but doesn’t take a seat at the bar. She won’t be here long enough for sitting down to be worth the effort of standing back up again, “Sorry, but that drink will have to wait. I just wanted to let you know that I’ll be space-born in a couple hours. I did promise to let you know before leaving. Don’t want to just vanish again.”

“You’re skipping town?” Darun asks, like he almost can’t believe it, “Well I got no right to question you on that front. No chance of me changing your mind?”

She just shakes her head at him, “Sorry. I think I found a place. But here,” she places a scrap of flimsy with a scrawled out number on the counter, “That’s my ship’s holo frequency. When my gang gets back, have them give me a call. I’ll stop by your place for a drink and a reunion before you know it.”

He picks up the flimsi and flips it elegantly through his fingers before tucking it into a pocket, “Will do. I’ll send you a holo as soon as I see those three Twi’leks waltz into my cantina. I’m sure they’ll be mighty happy to hear that you’re still alive. But… are you sure that you’re okay with staying with some Sith?”

“Yeah,” Vette says confidently, “I’m sure.”

He smiles at her, “As long as you’re sure, kid. My offer still stands, if you ever find yourself out of a place and near our little moon, feel free to hit me up. You always got a place here.”

“Aw, thanks Darun,” She grins and leans over the counter to give him a one armed hug. Today’s a hugging day, she thinks. Good day to give a lot of hugs. Maybe she can get Quinn to have a heart attack if she hugs him. That’d be hilarious, “You’re my favorite bartender in the galaxy, ya know that?”

He laughs, “You’re a good kid, Vette.”

“I’ll see you around,” she says cheerfully as she practically skips out of the cantina, “Call me sometime.”

“Hey,” he calls just before she’s out the door, “Take care of yourself, kid. I don’t wanna hear about you getting caught anymore. Only time I wanna hear your name is if you rob a Grand Moff blind, you got it?”

“Loud and clear!” She waves at him and then leaves, just as quickly as she came. She’s got places to be.

~*~

They leave Nar Shaddaa as the sun’s setting, a bright orange turning the heavy fumes of the planet’s atmosphere to burning shades all the way from crimson to violet. Gimrizh is sitting in the helmsman’s chair, watching their slow ascent through the spaceport’s entrance. In front of her is Vette at the co-pilot’s seat, and Quinn taking the wheel.

 _Goodbye, Nar Shaddaa_ , she thinks. There’s not much for her to do right now, as Vette has banned her from being behind any important controls for the foreseeable future. But the view is, as it always is, utterly stunning. While this place wasn’t the despicable planet she had been led to believe, it’s still one more planet in a whole galaxy full of other planets. And who knows where she’ll be sent next. She’d love to see Alderaan, for example.

“Are we ready to depart?” She asks, watching as they approach the port’s shields.

Quinn presses the comm button, “Tower command, are we clear for departure?”

 _“Tower command to unmarked Fury Interceptor_ , _you are cleared for take off. Shields will be lowered momentarily._ ” The voice says blandly.

“Damn,” Vette remarks as they wait for the shields to fall, “We really need to name this thing, don’t we?”

Quinn pulls up a file on the terminal that flashes a blank input field, “The name designation for this vessel is currently blank, my lord. Is there a name you’d like me to put down?”

Naming her ship hasn’t exactly been on the front of her mind lately, “Why can’t we just name her _Fury_?” She asks. It’s a ship, but naming conventions can hardly be that complicated, right? Can’t they just pick something easy to remember?

Vette rolls her eyes, “As I said, Sith _suck_ at naming things.”

For a moment, it looks like Quinn is about to make a scathing comment and then he doesn’t and Gimrizh smiles. She stares out the viewport and thinks for a moment, “How about _Horizon_? That’s not a bad name.”

“Ugh,” Vette sighs, “Well, I suppose it could be worse.”

Quinn types the name into the field and then closes the file, “ _Horizon_ is set. The shields are being lowered, my lord. Should we enter orbit?”

“Get us into open space,” Gimrizh says, leaning back in her chair and watching the stars race to meet them.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you guys think! I also really really need a beta/editor, so if you like doing that sort of thing or just want to read shitty first drafts, let me know. Leave a comment or send me a message to my tumblr (semper-draca) if you're interested.


	4. The Hunt Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter alright! Watch as I steal techno babble from Firefly, add a dash of 'mysterious backstory', and Vette's the only person on this ship who's not a complete idiot.

The door slams shut behind her as Gimrizh stalks onto the bridge, startling Vette, who’s busy playing a sim game on the holo terminal. Quinn follows right behind her, the both of them looking harried. Vette takes her feet off the dash before either of them can give her a stern talking to, “What’s going on? What’d Baras say? Are we being sent to some distant corner of the galaxy to hunt down more of his wayward spies?”

“We’re being tracked,” Gimrizh says, pointing at the terminal in front of Vette before taking her seat, “Baras is sending us coordinates to where the signal’s being sent to. Should be a space station not far from here.”

“Tracked?” Vette yelps, suddenly paying far more attention to what’s going on. How can someone be tracking them? _Horizon_ ’s practically brand new, how the hell did someone get a tracker on them already? “If someone’s scratched up our baby’s hull with a tracking device, I will have to have words with them.”

Quinn takes the pilot’s chair and pulls up the coordinates of whatever station is tracking them, “The signal is in a nearby sector, my lord,” he says, “Only a few hundred parsecs away. Should I have the nav-computer plot our hyperspace route?"

“Do it.” Gimrizh orders, “How long will it take us to arrive?”

He checks the terminal and reads off, “Forty-two minutes, my lord, from the moment we enter hyperspace.”

Vette’s still got a whole lot of questions and not a lot of them are getting answered. “Hold on a sec,” she says, turning her seat around to face Gimrizh, “You said we’re being tracked, right? Who the hell is doing the tracking? We haven’t annoyed anyone with enough pull to commandeer a krething space station, have we?” she pauses and glares at both of them suspiciously, “Have either of you pissed off someone important lately?”

“Er,” Quinn hesitates.

“This is likely going to be traced back to Nomen Karr,” Gimrizh says quickly, “Darth Baras suspects that he’s taken notice of us after we killed both those spies. Which means whoever we run into on that spaceport is likely to be Republic and answer directly to Nomen Karr himself. Are we ready to enter hyperspace?”

There’s a brief beeping as Quinn plugs the nav-computer’s results into the ship’s terminal, “Ready at your command, my lord,” he says, “If you don’t mind me asking, is there a chance that the padawan Lord Baras is seeking will be on the spaceport?”

"Quinn, get us into hyperspace. I want to see that station on our sensors as soon as possible."

"Entering hyperspace, my lord." He flips on the hyperdrive ignition and then pushes up the engine lever until it's in its final slot. Smooth as water, the ship speeds up and up until the stars blur and all Vette can see is the bright blue storm that is hyperspace.

Gimrizh seems to think about his earlier question for a moment and then she shakes her head, “And no. Nomen Karr has gone to a great deal of effort to keep his padawan safe, there's no way that he’d risk her now. She’s probably in the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, or in a bolt hole on some backwater planet. We won’t get to see her for while yet.”

“Seriously?” Vette groans, but dutifully starts punching buttons and flipping switches. “We’re going to burst in and shoot up a space station and it’s not even going to be the end of it?"

"No, we're not," Gimrizh says firmly, "I'm not going to board that ship at all. We're not going to set foot on it."

What the hells is that supposed to mean? Vette glances over at Quinn and sees that he looks just as confused as she is. They can't just let the station keep on tracking them, can they? She's pretty sure that if some Jedi has their position, they can't just keep on going on whatever top secret missions they get. It makes no sense.

"My lord, with all due respect, Lord Baras' exact words were to 'make a lasting impression'," Quinn tries, "Ignoring the station would run in direct contradiction to his orders. And it doesn't make tactical sense to allow your position to remain monitored."

Gimrizh smiles that tight lipped smile of hers that Vette has come to realize is actually a sign of nervousness. "I never said we were going to ignore them. I just said we're not going to _board_ the station."

That still makes no damn sense at all. Vette darts her eyes back and forth between Gimrizh and Quinn and to her surprise it looks like the captain actually understands what's going on. “They’ll have difficulty tracking us while we’re in hyperspace," he says slowly, looking at Gimrizh like he's trying to read her mind, "If we take them by surprise, we’ll be likely to have the upper hand. Our ship has superior weaponry and higher maneuverability, we could easily disable the station’s tracking abilities without risking a face to face confrontation.”

"Precisely," Gimrizh confirms, "They're a tracking station after all, how likely is it that they've got strong defensive guns?"

Now _that_ makes sense and Vette finds herself completely agreeing with them, “Yeah! We blast them from out here and then bada-bing bada-boom we’re home free!”

Gimrizh nods at her enthusiasm, "The last thing I want to do is pointlessly rush into a space station crawling with Republic guards when I could shoot them out of the sky from the comfort of my ship instead. Honesty Vette, you should know that about me by now. I'm not about to risk my life doing something so stupid as _boarding_ that station."

A relieved laugh escapes Vette's lips, "Ah self preservation," she muses, "I never have to question _your_ motives, I guess."

"I like to think I'm remarkably transparent," Gimrizh says, back to her usual snarky undertone self,

"Can you pilot this ship solo?" she asks and for a second Vette isn't sure which of them she's talking to.

In an answer to that question, Quinn nods, "Of course, my lord."

"Good," Gimrizh stands and takes a half step towards Vette, "I'm going to be taking the left hand gun turret, Vette, can you take the right? We’ll need all four cannons up and running once we pull out of hyperspace near the station."

An opportunity to go crazy in one of those sleek two-cannon turrets with the state of the art precision laser cannons? Oh Vette is _so_ there. “How could I possibly resist?” she jokes, sliding out of her chair and bouncing over to Gimrizh, “Have you ever fired one of those beauties before? They’re fabulous. Do you know what mark generators we have in ‘em?”

“No, and no,” Gimrizh answers rapidly and then turns away from Vette, “Both you of you should take the hour that we have to get some rest if you can, or get ready. Make sure that the ship’s coms are working and let me know shortly before we pull out of hyperspace. I’ll be in my cabin if there are any problems.”

Then she strides off the bridge, leaving Vette incredulously staring at the shut door, “Did you hear what I heard?” She looks over her shoulder to ask Quinn, “Did she just say that she’s _never_ used a laser cannon before?”

“I believe she did,” he says calmly, switching on the auto-pilot.

Vette groans and smacks her forehead against the bridge’s hull. “We’re attacking a space station. This should be _easy_ \- or well, at least it shouldn’t be too hard. Why can’t she practice or try out the hardware before hand? Why does this gotta be the first time!? And what is she _doing_? This isn’t a very good time to take a nap!”

Quinn doesn’t look particularly interested in her problems. He’s fiddling with some of the power adjustments on the terminal and seems slightly less determined to ignore her than she is to annoy him, “If she hasn’t decided to inform you, then you don’t need to know. And I’m certain that she’ll do exemplary work during the coming fight. You shouldn’t question the Lord Gimrizh.”

What happened to his sense of curiosity? Did it die at the same time as his sense of humor? “Ugh,” Vette snatches her datapad off her terminal and rolls her eyes, “She’s probably doing Sith stuff. Force meditation or something.”

He doesn't say anything in response to that, which, honestly, is probably for the best.

Vette heads to her bunk and grabs both her blasters and her cleaning kit. While she's pretty sure that they won't get boarded by some space station, and thus, it's unlikely she'll have to fire her side arms any time soon, she likes cleaning down her weapons. It's calming, in a way. She takes both pistols apart with a practiced ease. On the sheets of her bed, she says both blasters out piece by piece.

Then she starts wiping every part down for dust, checking to make sure everything's in working order, and getting her batteries all charged up to perfection. She's getting radio silence from Gimrizh's private quarters - and really _private quarters_ , so lucky. At least there are two small crew cabins so she doesn't have to share with Quinn, but if they pick up another girl then Vette’s going to have to share. Her prior guess about Gimrizh meditating might have just been on the mark though, if there’s peace and quiet. Vette doesn’t meditate herself, but she’s pretty sure it’s a silent activity, even when done by Sith. And she can hear the vague sounds of Quinn bustling around the ship, so he's probably doing the same as Vette. Or at least, the stuck up Imperial version of what Vette's doing.

She’s so grateful that they’re not going to board the station, because that was a very stupid and very pointless idea. She has to wonder though, is that Baras’ intention? Did he specifically hope that Gimrizh would rush in, lightsaber blazing, to confront the trackers? Their holocall was private and she didn’t hear anything, so she can’t pick apart whatever it was that he said. But it didn’t sound like he had mentioned anything about shooting the station down, and Quinn had heard the call and it had sounded like he assumed that they would be boarding as well. Is Baras really just that careless with Gimrizh’s life?

The two of them are probably one of the worst teacher-student combinations in the galaxy. Baras is an ambitious fucker with no concern for the lives of others, and Gimrizh is only slightly more ambitious than the average asteroid with no concerns other than saving her own hide. The only reason they don’t implode on each other seems to be due to Gimrizh basically rolling over and letting Baras boss her around. Now, Vette has no quarrel with that sort of strategy in general. Only she can’t help but feel like Baras knows this too. Like he knows that Gimrizh works for him only because of negative circumstances. To Vette, it feels like the two of them are playing a game where they’ll eventually have to fight each other and they’re just pretending it won’t happen like that.

Whatever the situation really is, Vette knows that every time Gimrizh comes back from a conversation with her master she looks like she’s aged a decade. One day Baras is going to get Gimrizh killed, Vette thinks. She doesn't want to know what'll end up happening after that. She knows that Gimrizh is trying to keep them safe by being utterly subservient but that _can't_ last forever. Something’s going to snap that relationship eventually.

Vette clips her fully loaded magazine into her blaster and moves to work on the second, tightening the trigger mechanism for a faster reaction time. Her blasters are her life, have been since she was eight and met Nok Drayen. She likes to make sure they’re always in top shape, no matter the time or place. She wipes off the energy burns that marr the shiny surface of the muzzle. Maybe she could beg a nice suppressor off of Gimrizh the next time they make port somewhere. That’d be really nice. She doesn’t really need one, but it’d be pretty.

She finishes sliding everything back into the main frame and then aims at a spec of dirt on the doorframe to check the alignment of the front and back sights. “Bang,” she whispers, flicking the safety on with her thumb.

She holsters both her babies and makes her way to the galley. When she passes the med bay, she can see Quinn fusing around inside and she hurries past a little bit quicker than normal. Toovee’s in the galley. The droid seems to be stacking canned goods in cupboards with a slow uselessness. Seriously, that is one chore that they don’t need done.

“Hey Toovee,” Vette says, sliding past the droid to grab the instant caff, “You probably shouldn’t be up and about right now.”

The droid slowly pushes another can into place, “I am running a scheduled maintenance program Mistress Vette. Is there something I can do to assist you?”

She measures out a double portion of caff and slams the mug in the heater, “We’re going to be blasting a hole in a space station in a bit. You’re the one who keeps saying you’re not combat ready so I figured you won’t want to be awake for this.”

“Oh my,” Toovee gasps, stopping his pointless stacking, “My compressors can’t handle that sort of input. I will power down right away.”

Vette smiles as the droid clanks out of the galley. That’s one inconvenience taken care of. She grabs her mug of caff and takes a deep sip. Ah, tasteless muck. Nothing quite like it. But it’s caffeine and she does need the energy so she keeps sipping at the bland liquid. She moves to put the box of instant caff away before a hand snatches it out of her reach.

“I need this,” Gimrizh says tiredly, sliding into one of the stools and getting her own cup of caff ready.

“How did… whatever it was you were doing go?” Vette asks, sitting down next to her.

Gimrizh shrugs as she keeps adding more and more spoonfuls of powder to the tiny amount of hot water in her mug. Seriously, it’s just a dark black sludge at this point, with so little liquid that it looks more like mud than anything remotely drinkable, “Meditating, and alright,” she answers.

Ah, so Vette was right all along. She loves being right. No feeling like it, “See anything good in the force?”

“That’s not really how it works,” Gimrizh says, taking a sip of her sludge-caff, “I don’t usually _see_ anything, it’s mostly just feelings and emotions.”

“Huh,” Vette tries to think about what that would be like, randomly feeling things for no reason, emotions that aren’t your own. Sounds weird as fuck to her. “What’s that even like?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” She tells her, “During meditation, Sith use strong emotions to tap into the force and then focus on what it reveals. Just now I was thinking about the coming fight and the larger conflict with Nomen Karr. The force felt calm and smooth, and now I have a good feeling about the battle. If we were walking into a death trap at this station, for comparison, I probably would have felt fear or pain as a warning. But I didn’t, so I’m not so concerned. Of course, things could still go wrong, so meditation isn’t an absolute.”

Vette’s slightly confused by all this, “Sounds like the force is pretty damn vague, if you ask me.”

“It’s not precise,” Gimrizh agrees, “I admit.”

Vette shrugs. What she doesn’t know about the force could fill fifty datachips. And it’s not like she’s a force sensitive herself, so there’s really no point for her to learn about the force. Oh well. There are more important matters for Vette to direct her attention to. Like the disgusting concoction Gimrizh is drinking. “Did you just add stim pills to that caff-muck?” She asks.

Gimrizh pauses in the middle of crushing a second stim pill, “...Yes?”

“And you’re going to _drink_ that?” Vette demands incredulously.

She puts the mug down with a click and raises an eyebrow at Vette, “Is this _really_ the most important thing that’s going to happen today?”

Vette is carefully considering her answer to that question when Quinn steps into the galley.

“My lord,” he says, addressing Gimrizh obviously because there’s no way in hells Vette gets a title, “We’ll be pulling out of hyperspace in ten minutes. What are your orders?”

Gimrizh glances down at the sludge in her cup, drains the whole thing, and then tosses it in the sink, “Quinn, I need you piloting this ship when we get there and I need you troubleshooting if anything goes wrong. Vette, you and me are on guns, but I need you to keep an eye out. As you mentioned earlier, I’ve never done this before but I know you have. Any questions?”

“No, my lord,” Quinn replies, “I’ve set the scanners to try and detect the space station, but so far there’s nothing.”

She frowns thoughtfully, “No matter. We’ll have visual once we arrive. Let's get to work."

"Alright!" Vette cheers, excited by the prospect of finally getting to work one of _Horizon_ 's beautiful cannons. "See you guys on the other side."

She flips a mocking salute and then is the first one out of the galley. Quinn heads to the bridge and she can see Gimrizh making her way across the main room to get to the left hand turret. Vette's stationed on the right hand side so she just has to take a few steps away from the galley before she can grab hold of the turret’s ladder and maker her way down into the open cockpit of the cannon turret that she affectionately thinks of as the fishbowl.

The ‘fishbowl’ is a round duraplast cockpit with metal reinforcements attached to the outside of the ship’s hull, but still kept aired and sealed like the rest of the ship’s interior. There’s an uncomfortable seat that Vette sits down in and from here, she has a really amazing view of hyperspace, honestly.

She’s got a control panel and steering mechanism in front of her, including a headset that links into the ship’s comms. Thank the stars that the headset is just an ear piece and a speaker, and not something meant to go over her head. Imperial devices are never built for someone with lekku. She puts the headset on and starts messing with the cannons. There’s two cannons per turret, a double gun set up and below it, a missile launcher. She’s got a limited supply of missiles, but she’s pretty sure she won’t need to exhaust that supply in this fight. Not unless the space station has way more defenses than they’re expecting.

To her left she can see Gimrizh in her turret as well and Vette resists the urge to wave. Instead, she starts warming up her cannons. She can hear the hum of energy as the cannons start to power up. She tries out the wheel and finds that the fishbowl moves around really nice and smooth. Fabulous, she hates the older turret models that she finds on many Corellian freighters, too jerky, not good for accurate shooting.

“ _Can everyone hear me_?” Gimrizh says through the earpiece.

“ _Yes, my lord._ ”

“Loud and clear!” Vette agrees, and this time she does wave her fingers at Gimrizh a little.

“ _I’m about to bring us out of hyperspace. I’ll try to get us as close to the space station as possible so that our appearance is a surprise._ ”

“ _Cut it as close as you can, Quinn_. _And Vette - stop moving around, this isn’t a game."_

Vette groans and lowers her hand, “Yeah yeah. Ruin all my fun.”

“ _If it’s fun you want, wait a few seconds_.”

“I can be patient,” Vette shrugs and she can practically see Gimrizh rolling her eyes at her. She flips on the last switch and adjusts the controls to fit her preferences. All ready.

“ _Pulling out of hyperspace now_.”

The blue cloudy surroundings suddenly fall behind them and Vette’s vision is replaced with normal stars. Right in front of them is a distant moon and the looming space station orbiting it, and _damn_ is it a lot closer than she thought it’d be. She hates Quinn and his ridiculously good piloting skills. The station’s relatively small, actually, and it doesn’t seem to have heavy defences. She can sport maybe one minor shield generator and a handful of light cannons. Easy prey. Back in her piloting days, stations like this were considered to be the robbing equivalent of a milk run.

Actually, there is one danger to them that Vette can spot, “See those glowing white panels there?” She says into the comm, “That’s the tractor beam. We’ve got to shoot that out as soon as possible or else they drag us in and we get boarded!”

Apparently needing no further encouragement, Gimrizh’s cannons start to unload on the tractor beam. Well, she can’t let herself be out-shot by a complete beginner, now can she? Vette grins and swings her turret around to blast at the second tractor panel.

The panels explode brilliantly, sending a shower of debris across the open space between them and the station. A distance that’s quickly closing.

“ _I think they got our greeting_ ,” Gimrizh says calmly.

On the station’s hull, the defensive cannons move to lock on their position and open fire.

The first few blasts bounce off _Horizon’_ s shields and then the station goes all blurry as the ship spins out of the way like a fucking pinwheel. Vette should be a lot more irritated, but it’s given her a really nice angle to swerve her turret and use one of her missiles to blow up the nearest cannon. The missile goes straight through the weak shielding and causes the cannon to go up in a blast of rubble and fire.

“ _Their shields are keeping a layer of oxygen around the station_ ,” Quinn informs them and okay yeah, he’s right, but it’s pretty obvious.

“No, really?” Vette mutters sarcastically, “I couldn’t tell, what with all the _fire_.” To punctuate her statement, she opens fire at another cannon. A second wave of blaster fire hits them and then she has to turn all the way around to keep attacking that cannon as the ship zips to the right of the station to avoid fire. She blasts that cannon five ways to hell and then targets another.

Whatever auto-target system her guns have is annoying her. She prefers to shoot based off her own sight and instinct. As unexpectedly strong fire comes from Gimrizh’s turret to her left, Vette switches off her targeting system. The cannon that Gimrizh attacked is readily turned to scrap metal, which isn’t half bad shooting for a complete beginner.

“Nice shot!” She cheers, “Now see if you can take out the shield! We need to get a bit closer!”

“ _Put your gun where your mouth is_ ,” Comes her snarky reply and Vette has to grin because hey, it’s not like Gimrizh can see.

But either Gimrizh is in the mood to obey orders or Vette actually made a decent suggestion because she can see blaster from her left side suddenly focus on the shield generator facing them. Vette shoots down the closest cannon to her and then adds her bolts to Gimrizh’s until the shield generator falls.

“ _There’s a second generator on the other side of the station_ ,” Gimrizh orders, “ _Quinn, get us in a position to target it._ ”

“ _Understood, my lord_.”

The ship pulls up and out of the way of the cannons to skid over the top of the station and Vette can see the edge of the second generator appear as they fly closer. She starts blasting at it and taunts Gimrizh through her earpiece, “Hey, your Sithyness, can you see that generator or are you blind?”

Secondary fire begins to join hers. Looks like Gimrizh got the message. Within a few seconds the secondary generator goes the same way as the first, falling down to the far below moon in shards and chunks of sparking metal.

The soft light of the shield flickers and then goes out completely. “Alright!” Vette says enthusiastically, “What should we blow up next?”

“ _There’s a power generator at the base of the station_ ,” Quinn informs them, “ _It’s relatively unprotected and should be easy to disable_.”

“ _Perfect_ ,” Gimrizh takes a second to blow up a cannon - Vette’s so proud of her. “ _Get us under the station_.”

Vette tries to aim at the cannons that whizz past her as the ship hurtles towards the station before making a sharp twist downwards, zooming by deck after deck of the station, heading towards whatever power generator is keeping this whole thing from crashing into the moon. Out of the corner of her eye, she catches sight of transmission disks and she blasts those too, just for the fun of it. Also destroying the devices that would be receiving their position through the tracker feels oh so poetic.

The ship pulls back to hover right next to the generator and she gets a good look at the thing. The power generator is a large hunk of durasteel at the very base of the station. It's as dark as the rest of the thing, so the power beans are contained inside, but blasts from the outside will definitely destabilize it and at the very least shut it down - might even cause a reaction that could wipe out the whole station. And, due to whatever stupid reasoning was used when people built this place, none of the defensive cannons are in a good position to shoot at them down here. Probably designed to avoid having the station fire at its own power core but now it works to their advantage.

Vette starts pulling on the trigger like there's no tomorrow, her shots and Gimrizh's pounding away at the heavy generator. At first there's no effect, as the durasteel does its job and absorbs the laser blasts without taking damage. Then it starts weakening and wearing down and Vette gets in a shot that blows off a huge chunk of the thing and it's toast.

A few more blasts and smoking gases are trailing from the generator. The station lurches and starts sinking slowly towards its nearby moon.

"Yeah!" Vette cheers, her fist pumping the air, "Woohoo!"

" _My lord_ ," Quinn says over the coms and is it her imagination or does he sound slightly worried? " _We're being hailed."_

 _"I'm on my way,_ " Gimrizh replies immediately, " _Vette, stay by your gun. In case there are any surprises._ "

"Sure thing," Vette says with a resigned sigh. The coms go static, so Gimrizh has disconnected probably. And there's not even any cannons that Vette can see and shoot at from this position. Oh well. Maybe once the station eventually falls past them she can blow up the remaining defensive guns.

~*~

Gimrizh dashes to the bridge, wondering who the hell is hailing them right now. Someone from the station maybe? Shouldn't they be pretty busy trying to evacuate right now? After all, she gives them about half an hour before they crash into the moon below, unless they have a backup generator and can get it up and running first. It's an unlikely scenario, given how unprepared they were for an offensive assault.

"Quinn," she says hurriedly, switching on the small bridge holo to receive whatever call they're getting, "Is it the station that's hailing us?"

"That's where the main signal's coming from, my lord," he tells her as he runs a series of commands on the terminal screen, "But it's a layered transmission, I suspect someone is routing their call through the station's holo but the original signal is coming from somewhere else."

She sits down in the captain's chair, "Put the call on. And see if you can track it."

"Yes, my lord," he replies and then the holo flickers on.

A dignified human man stands in the light, hands clasped behind his back and posture parade-ground perfect. "Hello," he says in a calm steady voice, "You must be Baras' most recent apprentice."

"And you must be Nomen Karr, yes?" Gimrizh says, trying to keep her voice just as pleasant as his. If he wants to be polite she can respect that, "My name is Gimrizh, and you're right, I am Darth Baras' apprentice. But I'm sure you're aware of that already. As I understand it, you've been keeping an eye on me for a while."

He doesn't even try to deny it, "Yes, do forgive my rudeness. Me and Baras have a habit of keeping tabs on each other so when I heard he gained another apprentice I had you traced. You seem reasonable; I have a request for you."

Unusual, "What is it?" She asks, narrowing her eyes at the small translucent figure.

"The men aboard that station," he explains, "They're just paid to work machines, they aren't involved in this conflict. Please allow them to evacuate safely before you destroy the station. There's no need for more bloodshed."

He won't track her again, she's already ensured that with the statement she made here today. She supposes that he's right, there isn't a need for her to kill everyone on board that station. Most are probably civilians anyway and that doesn't sit quite right with her. "Very well, we won't press our attack," she agrees.

"Thank you. You have remarkable temperance," Karr comments, "I know what you and your master are doing. I know that you are being sent to eliminate his spies before I can expose them to the Jedi Council. Soon, I'll have the proof I need. Baras' spies can't hide forever."

"That would be proof given by your most elusive apprentice, would it?" Gimrizh says slowly, pushing her advantage in the conversation just as she would in a fight.

It works and she watches the small tells on Nomen Karr as his face falls, "Ah," he sighs sadly, "You know more than I thought. It's unfortunate, but I've kept her secret well. You and your master are merely feeling your way in the dark. My padawan is of supreme importance to both me and the Jedi order. I won't let harm come to her."

"So judgemental and you don't even know me," she points out, "I could have any manner of peaceful intentions."

He gives her a sad look, like a disappointed teacher to a lying student, "I have to doubt that. It seems as though Baras has found a singularly vicious weapon in you. I won't let him unleash you upon my padawan."

"So protective. Do you care about her, Nomen Karr?" She asks.

"The dark side will find no purchase in me," he informs her solemnly, "This experience has given me valuable insight. I will be ready for you next time."

That sounded like a threat. She doesn't want to know what he'll try to take her out, "No one else has to die."

"If only that were true," he says regretfully, "I will do everything in my power to keep my padawan hidden from you."

He has an awful lot of confidence in his ability to protect this apprentice. How long will that last with Baras after her? "Then you have placed us at odds."

He shakes his head, "Don't try and play the victim. Your service to the dark side determined our relationship long before we ever met."

The call dies before Gimrizh can make her reply to that.

"I apologize, my lord," Quinn says, "The signal was too heavily unscripted for me to break."

She waves it off. "It doesn't matter. I didn't think we'd be able to track him now. He's too good for that. We need to wait for either him or his apprentice to slip up - that's when we'll catch them."

"Are we going to continue our attack on the station?" he asks, looking out at the falling wreck that they caused. In front of them, they can see a couple escape pods detach and accelerate into space.

"No," she says with a shake of her head, "I said I wouldn't, after all." She picks up the com that she switched off earlier and puts it to her ear, "Vette, stand down. We're leaving."

" _You're the boss_." Vette replies and Gimrizh drops the headset back down on the terminal.

"What's our status?" She asks, turning back to Quinn.

"Minor damage to the shields, but nothing important. They didn't much manage to hit us," he says proudly.

She smiles and leans back in the chair, allowing some of the stress to fade from the knots in her shoulders and neck, "That's good news. We should head to an Imperial-friendly spacedock, repair the shields, and then get my next assignment from my master. What's nearby?"

He checks the map, "We're an hour away from Vaiken Spacedock, my lord. Should we dock with the fleet?"

"Do it," Gimrizh agrees and then they're off again.

~*~

They touch down at Vaiken Spacedock after slightly over an hour in hyperspace. After a terse exchange with the harried port authority, _Horizon_ is given permission to dock for the day while they make what little repairs are needed and while Gimrizh contacts Baras.

Vette begs some money off of her and heads into the vendor decks to shop for what she claims are necessities, and Quinn starts working on tuning up the shields and getting rid of the minor cosmetic damage to the ship's hull. Gimrizh takes a brief sonic shower to get rid of the dust of traveling and then she calls Baras.

"Master," she greets him as he steps into the holo’s view, head bowed respectfully, "I have taken care of the space station that was tracking my ship. You were right, Nomen Karr was responsible."

Baras seems pleased by this, for all that she can tell beneath his mask, "Good work, my apprentice. Did you speak with the man himself?"

"Yes master," she replies, "We spoke over holo. He knows that we are after his apprentice and claims that he will do whatever it takes to stop us from reaching her. It appears that he has some level of care for her. Perhaps we can exploit that."

"Perhaps," he says noncommittally, "Regardless, there is no time to waste. We have two tidbits of information on his mystery apprentice; that she was trained on Tatooine and found by Nomen Karr on Alderaan. I have agents on both worlds with orders to begin tracking her down. Find out whatever you can about this girl. Find the people who are close to her. Someone means enough to to her to bring her out of hiding. Her training is incomplete and she is susceptible. The anguish we cause her will draw her out and then we can kill her and Nomen Karr."

So they are going to destroy this apprentice from the inside out. Break her before killing her. But if she is young and untrained and as Baras says, susceptible, then couldn't their actions cause her to fall to the dark side instead? "Master, what if she could be turned?

He pauses and actually seems to give her words due consideration, "She would be a great asset. If we put her through enough torment she might reveal her base nature. But seduction to the dark side should be left to the masters - if there's any doubt in your heart it can backfire."

"I understand, master," she says. His answer is neither yes or no, merely an allowance for her to try her hand and see. Either way, she will feel the effects of her actions. And he loses nothing if she tries. If she succeeds, Baras gains a valuable piece. If she fails, then he won't be the one to face the apprentice in battle anyways.

"While you are hunting the apprentice, keep an eye out for the master," Baras cautions, "You have yet to face a Jedi Master. Their righteous and passionless demeanor is nauseating and Nomen Karr is no ordinary master. Confronting him, you will gain profound fortitude and hate or you will falter."

"Nomen Karr will not withstand my anger," she assures him.

"Then hunt down his apprentice, discover her identity, and destroy her." Baras orders, "Head to Tatooine first, my agent there informs me she has a lead. Karr's apprentice trained on Tatooine under the Jedi Master Yonlach."

The name rings a bell, "I've heard of a Master Yonlach before."

He nods, "He was a powerful and renowned Jedi teacher despite his old age. Years ago I urged the Dark Council to hunt him down but to no avail, and he went into hiding on Tatooine. Yonlach has been busy in his exile; he brought the apprentice's powers into expression. Now they share a close bond, if you ruin Yonlach, the apprentice will feel the effects of it no matter how far away she is."

"Understood," Gimrizh replies, "How will I find Yonlach?"

"My agent, Sharack Breev, will guide you. She is eccentric - an acquired taste, but give her the benefit of the doubt," Baras informs her.

Gimrizh bows obediently, "As you decree, my master."

"That is all," he says dismissively. He turns around and with a sweep of his robes he vanishes as the call goes out.

Gimrizh lets out a deep breath. She leans against the holo and runs a hand through her hair tiredly. Does she want to try and turn this apprentice? Is it worth the trouble? Logically, she thinks that it would be. If she can get Nomen Karr's prized apprentice on her side then they'll have a significant advantage. And it would mean one less life or death fight in her future. But if she fails, can she handle the consequences of fighting a half-mad Jedi? For that matter, can she handle fighting Nomen Karr?

Whatever battle the two of them may have is a long while off and that does give her time to train and prepare. But that time also gives him the same advantage. If Baras hasn't managed to defeat Nomen Karr yet what chance does she have? Maybe that's what Baras wants. Send her off to take out this apprentice and then conveniently be tidied up, leaving Baras to finish off Karr and claim all the credit. She knows Baras is after glory and power, killing Nomen Karr would give him a nice helping of both.

But what to do? Her gut is telling her to turn the apprentice. Perhaps she should just follow her instincts in this, see where turning the girl takes her.

"Hm, you look deep in thought," Vette interrupts, waltzing back into the central room, carrying a number of bags, "Did you get done talking to his pudginess?"

Gimrizh pulls herself off the holo and goes to join the Twi'lek, "And you look like you spent every credit I gave you. I'll assume you were productive?"

Vette flashes her a grin and shoves a bag into her hands, "I bought gifts! That's yours. I got some nice food for the kitchen, Toovee is an _awful_ cook, I don't care how 'nutritious' he claims his meals are, they're terrible." She pauses to sort through the bags and shakes one fondly, "This one's mine. Blaster parts, mostly."

"You got me a... gift," Gimrizh asks, unsure if she heard correctly in all the rambling.

"Of course," Vette replies, "Open it!"

She opens the bag and peers inside. "Clothes?"

Vette laughs, "I got you shirts, you dummy."

She takes another glance at the brightly colored bundles of fabric inside the bag, "Shirts?"

"Well you always seem to get yours ruined," Vette explains, "And you have _atrocious_ fashion sense. Everything you wear is black, grey, or brown. I got you some colors. I think you'd look good in silver, so I got some of that, and also red, but I thought that was a bit obviously Sith so I got you pink instead."

Gimrizh has never owned a single _pink_ thing in her entire life. She isn't sure she wants to start now. "Thanks?" She hesitantly replies.

"You're welcome!" Vette beams at her, "Now, where's captain stuffy, I got him things too?"

Gimrizh has a very bad feeling about this, "The engine room, fixing the shields. Please be nice, Vette," she begs, although it may be too late.

Vette drops half the bags on the couch and makes her way merrily to the engine room, Gimrizh following at her heels, "I'm mostly not horrible. But I _was_ actually nice this time, so suck it."

Quinn is elbows deep in engine parts when they get there, and there's some sort of computer program downloading onto the engine's terminal.

"Hey!" Vette calls out over the whirr of the engine and saunters over, "I got you something."

Quinn stops whatever he's doing in time to catch the small box she lobs at his head. He turns it over in his hands smeared with engine grease and reads out the label, "Alderaanian herbal tea?"

Vette shrugs, "You strike me as a fancy tea sort of guy."

Huh, that's not as bad as Gimrizh was expecting. She guesses Vette is moving past their earlier disagreement. Also, it makes sense that Vette would be able to guess what Quinn likes to drink. Vette could probably find a personalized beverage for anyone if she put her mind to it.

"That's astute of you," Quinn comments, putting the box down and picking up the hydro spanner again, "You have my thanks."

"I always know people's _tastes_ ," Vette says, winking suggestively at Gimrizh, which, okay, that doesn't make any sense.

She raises an eyebrow, "What's _that_ supposed to mean? Is this about you trying to get me drunk again?"

"What?" Vette looks surprised by that, "No? You mean you don't...?" She pauses and the corner of her mouth tugs thoughtfully, "Huh."

"You're making less sense than usual," Gimrizh remarks, dropping that line of questioning. She wanders over to try and see what Quinn's doing to the engine. Whatever it is seems to involve a mess of wires, but she can't tell what's what for the life of her, "How are the shields doing?"

"Oh, the shields are fully functional, my lord," he informs her and unscrews a heavy bolt from some clunky engine part, "They just needed to be recharged and have the generator restarted. I'm currently modifying the ship's sublight engines to - "

"You're doing _what_?!" Vette demands, clearly outraged.

He frowns at her, "I'm tuning up the sublight engines to increase our overall speed."

Vette gapes at him, "But those engines are a thing of pure beauty- they're gorgeous and perfect- they have a _delicate balance_ \- You'll _ruin_ them!" She flies over in a vengeful fury to peer inside the engine and see what he’s doing, “What are you _doing?!_ That’s the secondary grav boot! We _need_ that!”

“I’m not _doing_ anything to the gravity boot,” Quinn informs her, giving her a look like maybe she isn’t completely stupid, “I’m removing the fifth red coupling.”

“That’s important _too_!” Vette seems to be both panicking and tremendously angry at the same time. It’s actually an impressive combo, Gimrizh thinks, considering how not much seems to shake Vette’s cool outer veneer. “You can’t just _get rid_ of pieces, not in a top of the line, high quality, downright _beautiful_ machine like this one! I brought you tea and now you’re going to betray me like this!?”

Quinn calmly removes some metal cylinder and places it in Vette’s shocked hands. “It’s superfluous,” he gestures to whatever it is he’s doing in the engine, “See, if I take this line and plug it into the port pinlock, the coupling becomes unnecessary. If I had left it in, it would slow down the engine.”

Very very slowly, Vette deflates as the anger in her cools. She takes another long, considering look at the engine’s insides and then again at the piece she’s holding in her hand; the fifth red coupling. Gimrizh is impressed. She didn’t think that anyone knew more about machines than Vette but she’s willing to admit she was wrong. The question really is, is Vette willing to admit she’s wrong.

Vette glares suspiciously at Quinn and then crosses her arms, “Alright.” She says at last, “You may continue. Under my extremely close supervision.”

“Great,” Gimrizh cuts in, because as hilarious as this is there is actual work that needs to be done, “Our next stop is Tatooine. As soon as everything’s ready, let’s head out.”

“But Tatooine’s awful!” Vette protests. “Why do we need to go to some backwater outer rim sand world?”

Gimrizh just fixes her with a stern look, “Nomen Karr’s apprentice trained there. We’re headed there to find out who she trained with and if they’re still on that planet. If you think it’s such a terrible destination then take it up with Darth Baras.”

~*~

 _Horizon_ touches down on Tatooine after a long few days in hyperspace. The planet's suns are high in the sky and beating down the full wrath of their heat. Even inside the reinforced and forcibly cooled walls of the Mos Ila Spaceport, the air still feels heavy and hot, like an oppressive blanket wrapped around everything and everyone.

“Ugh,” Vette says, flopping down on a supply crate in the hangar bay, “This place is so hot, my lekku are sweating.”

Gimrizh strides down the gangplank and is about to say something to Vette when her eyes catch sight of a strange looking human entering the hangar bay. It’s a woman, with sun darkened skin, short white hair, and a variety of strange jewelry dangling from her ears. The woman’s dressed for a trek through the desert and is carrying a short electro-staff on her back, the sort of thing that would be useful against sand people and whatever violent animals the desert has to offer.

Twenty credits says that’s Sharack Breev, the ‘eccentric’ agent that Baras has tracking Nomen Karr’s padawan. Following her hunch, Gimrizh walks over to the woman with a tentative, “Hello,”

A strange open smile comes over her face, “Hello, honored Apprentice Gimrizh,” she says as an introduction, “I am Sharack Breev. The harsh sands of Tatooine welcome you. Our lord and master Darth Baras bid me to impart my knowledge of this planet and help you track down the Jedi Master Yonlach.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Gimrizh replies. Sharack has a strange way of speaking and she can understand why Baras called the woman ‘an acquired taste’.

“It is good to see you with my eyes as well,” Sharack says, “I will be your compass through the desert. You will find Yonlach by reliving the path that was walked by Nomen Karr’s apprentice.”

Well. That might take a while. “I’ll assume you have a lead?”

“I found their path,” Sharack confirms with a nod, “I followed them when they were here, followed them to the forbidden lair of the ancient sand demon.”

A demon? She doesn’t know much about the fauna native to Tatooine, but she presumes that calling a demon might be a bit of an exaggeration. Likely it’s just an oversized, vicious creature, but nothing truly demonic. She can’t say that for sure, but she’s beginning to think that her stay on Tatooine might take her a bit longer than she would like, if she’s going to be fighting a monster, “Did the apprentice kill the beast?”

“No,” and Sharack looks so intrigued by the mystery of it all as she speaks, “The padawan left her weapons and entered alone. Impossibly, she returned unscathed. That demon is the fiercest thing on this planet. I investigated further, and found that the beast was still there, also undamaged, and, most perplexingly, it’s skin was _glistening_.”

“Blood?” Gimrizh asks, crossing her arms and considering what on earth this woman is talking about.

Sharack just shrugs, “I couldn’t say. What happened in that cave is a mystery to me, as is where they went afterwards.”

How useless. If the trail consists of just one cave, then there isn’t much for her to follow, and certainly no way to lead her to Yonlach, “Is there anything else you know?”

“Nothing I could tell you, but there is one man on Tatooine who might have the knowledge you seek. Izzeebowe Jeef,” Sharack says respectfully, “He’s as old as the sand. Part madman, part soothsayer.”

“Then I want to speak with him as soon as possible,” Gimrizh requests.

“I can lead you there,” Sharack warns, “But it won’t be easy. The farming settlement where he lives is patrolled by Exchange members, and the Exchange _hates_ the Empire for driving them out of Mos Ila. They’ll allow me to pass, but they might attack you.”

Gimrizh isn’t particularly worried. If her quarry consists of sand demons and Jedi Masters, a few gang members are the very least of her troubles, “I’ve killed Exchange men before. It’s nothing to me. I’ll follow you to this Izzeebowe Jeef as soon as we’re ready to head out.”  
“I’ll wait for you by the spaceport exit,” Sharack bows to her and then makes her way out.

Gimrizh watches the peculiar woman leave, feeling like there’s something about Tatooine that she inherently dislikes. She’s tried not to judge planets by her first impressions in the past, but something about this place rubs her the wrong way. It’s not the kind oddity that is Sharack, and it’s not even the too hot weather. There’s no disturbance in the force that she can feel, but her chest feels oddly heavy and her stomach tight as a knot.

It’s tempting to consider what it exactly is bothering her, but there’s work to be done and she likes to think that she’s somewhat professional. Business first.

She turns around and walks back to where Vette and Quinn are waiting by _Horizon’_ s gangplank. “That was Sharack Breev,” she informs them, “Baras’ agent here. She’s been tracking Nomen Karr’s padawan and has found an opening. Before we can investigate properly, I’m going with her to speak to some desert hermit. Stay here while I’m gone please, and do whatever work there is that needs to be done. I should be back within the day.”

“My lord,” Quinn protests in that way of his that makes it clear he isn’t _really_ complaining at all but that there’s definitely a problem, “Are you certain that you’ll be safe with that woman?”

There’s nothing dishonest or untrustworthy that Gimrizh could sense in Sharack. Aside from the inherent fact that she works for Baras, Gimrizh sees no problem giving the woman some measure of trust, “I’m sure Quinn. Don’t worry about me, there’s nothing that she could pull that could actually harm me. She’s a tracker, not a fighter.”

“Of course, my lord,” he replies, “I don’t doubt your skills. I merely doubt her intentions.”

That’s reasonable, “I’ll be fine,” she says in what she hopes in a reassuring voice, “And besides, I’ll only be gone a few hours.”

Vette fans herself from her seat on a crate, “I’d say have fun, but uh… I doubt you will.”

“Thanks for such lovely words, Vette,” Gimrizh says sarcastically, before giving both her crew a brief nod and turning to leave.

The spaceport at Mos Ila isn’t as crowded as she’s used to, not after Nar Shaddaa and Drumond Kaas. Mostly looks like farmers coming in to pick up shipments, the odd dozen smugglers, a suspicious looking Devaronian, a couple of gun wielding mercenaries. It’s pretty standard fare for an outer rim world. The desert sand is quite pervasive, even inside it manages to blow in and collect in corners. No wonder people don’t seem to like Tatooine.

Sharack is standing around near the spaceport’s main exit. Even surrounded by strange people, Sharack stands out like a sore thumb for some reason.

“Are you ready to go?” Gimrizh asks her as she walks up next to her.

“Izzeebowe lives on the outskirts of Mos Ila,” Sharack tells her, “If the sands are kind, it’ll be only an hour’s journey.”

~*~

It’s late in the evening when Gimrizh stalks back into Mos Ila, and after picking up Vette from a nearby cantina the two head back to _Horizon_ to get some rest. Gimrizh has had a _hell_ of a day. First there was Izzeebowe Jeef, who is definitely some form of crazy. Then she had thought ‘why not’ and made her way to the sand demon's cave which resulted in the strangest encounter she’s ever had with a beast and _then_ she’d had to speak with sand people which is never a pleasant thing to do.

She’s got to journey to the Desert Wound Ravine tomorrow, and she’s not particularly looking forward to that. To start with, it’s much deeper in the desert than her brief foray today. And she’s got only the vaguest of ideas as to what is going to be waiting her in that ravine. Something to do with ‘seeking enlightenment’ but she doesn’t trust Jedi wisdom very much.

And she’s covered in sand demon blood and it’s abhorrent. There are clumps of dried blood in her hair and clothes and some sort of slime that refuses to do anything more than congeal is drenching her shirt.

Outside the cantina, Vette gives her a brief look over and gags, “That’s disgusting. What even _happened_ to you?”

This has been a long day and there is no way that Gimrizh is going to explain the insanity of it twice in a row. “I’ll tell you once we get back to the ship. No doubt Quinn will want to know as well and I’d rather not have to go over it twice,” she says with a heavy sigh, “Now please, change the subject.”

"Okay… What was Sharack Breev like?" Vette asks as they walk into the hangar bay where their ship is moored, and thank the stars she actually did as Gimrizh said, "She looks weird, even for a desert person."

Gimrizh shrugs and thinks about the odd speech patterns and the way Sharack seems to live and breathe the desert, "She's peculiar, I suppose. But inherently harmless."

"'Inherently harmless'," Vette quotes in a mocking voice "I didn't ask if you were planning on fighting her, jeez."

"Force of habit," Gimrizh explains, "I suppose Sharack is a nice enough person, then. Does that answer suit your personable sensibilities?"

“Barely, I suppose,” Vette sniffs, “You really need to be more of a people person.”

“I _fight_ people. That should count for something. And I’m perfectly respectful and polite when dealing with others. Give me _some_ credit.”

“A little bit of credit. Get drunk with me and I’ll give you a bit more.”

“You _really_ think that’s going to work?”

“I’d give you a whole bucket full of credits if you’d take a krething shower.”

“It’s first on my list as soon as I get back to _Horizon_ , believe me.”

The sight of her ship waiting peacefully in the dock is a balm to Gimrizh’s tired and strung out nerves. She drags herself on board, lured by the promise of a shower and decent food and some rest. So far, her gut feeling has been correct; she _does not_ like Tatooine. And if she has to spend another excursion through a full sand covered landscape just to get blood and slime all over her then she may very well snap and kill someone.

Gimrizh yanks off her outer shirt and tosses it to Vette, "Can you throw this disgusting thing in an incinerator please?"

"Ew." Vette turns her nose up, holding the trashed fabric at arms length, "I am so glad I bought you more shirts. Aren't you glad?"

And of course, because this has been an off day all around, that's when Quinn walks into the main room. He's carrying a supply crate that almost slips through his fingers when he sees a blood splattered, shirtless, dirt smeared Gimrizh.

"Don't ask," Gimrizh says tiredly.

He just raises an eyebrow and tries not to look too confused, "I wasn't going to, my lord."

"Good. I'll explain what happened later but I need a shower," Too wrung out to deal with this anymore, Gimrizh storms off to the fresher, tossing her lightsaber belt into her room as she goes.

As she slides the fresher door shut behind her she can hear Vette yell, "I'll pick out a nice outfit for you to wear!"

Great. She tugs off the rest of her clothes and throws them on the counter before stepping into the shower. Her shirt was ruined beyond repair but maybe she can salvage her pants and chest wrappings. Her boots are a lost cause, the synth leather having become saturated with blood and then having picked up a thick layer of sand around that. She'll have to toss them too. Whatever Vette tries to force her into, she just hopes it isn't pink. She'd seen a number of fluffy pastel _things_ in the bag Vette got her and she has no desire to wear any of them. It's not dignified.

The shower is space standard and she's used to it, having lived on the dry planet of Korriban almost all her life, but it's times like these that make her long for a shower with actual water. She would hand over thousands of credits for a damn bath right now. But Tatooine doesn't have enough water for those sorts of luxuries so she just toughs it out. Ugh, she never wants to do this sort of thing again. She picks clumps of congealed demon blood out of her hair and almost rips off her skin trying to scrub out the reek of that thing's scent.

Feeling bitter, she steals some of Vette's luxury soaps to rub into her skin. Needing no hair products, Vette seems to spend all that saved money on fancy soaps and skin creams. Normally Gimrizh wouldn't bother with them but she feels she's earned it. She has no idea what scent these bottles are supposed to be, but she definitely smells better by the end of it.

When she finally steps out of the shower, if not more energized then at least cleaner, she notices that her old clothes have vanished. And been replaced. By some fluffy pink abomination.

" _Vette!"_  She yells through the fresher door.

There's a scuffle of noise outside the door and then she can hear Vette muffle a giggle and reply, "Yeah?"

"What did you _do_ to my _clothes_?" Gimrizh demands.

There's a pause during which she can practically _hear_ the devious grin on Vette's face, "I don't know what you're talking about. You did tell me to get rid of your ruined things, I was just being helpful."

Gimrizh bangs her head against the door, "This is _not_ what I call helpful."

"Have a little faith," Vette says cheerfully, "Besides, if you _really_ hate what I picked you could always not wear 'em. I'm sure _Quinn_ wouldn't mind that."

She is too tired to deal with this. Reluctantly, and with much gagging, Gimrizh tugs on the clothes Vette left out for her. There's a pair of spangly silver leggings and an oversized pastel pink sweater that's fluffier than a bantha and three sizes too big for her. It falls off her shoulders and covers her hands completely. She looks _ridiculous_.  Vette clearly didn't so much as try to find something that would fit. Gimrizh tries to scowl in the mirror but it's no use, she just looks too froofy to be scary.

She stalks out of the fresher and sags down onto the couches in the main room. Vette's messing with the dejarik table and Quinn's fiddling with the holo communicator. Both of them look up and stare as she enters the room. Quinn looks both confused and shocked, but Vette's grin is practically blinding.

"Awww," Vette coos, sitting down next to her, "You look so cute!"

Gimrizh glares at her, "I am not _cute_. I'm a Zabrak, I'm supposed to be terrifying. You are a _menace_ and this is _absurd_."

"You're _adorable_ ," Vette laughs. "Now, are you going to explain what the hell happened to you? Or do I need to get out some glitter and roll you in it?"

"Do it and die," Gimrizh bites back, "And I'm not adorable. And I  _hate_ being made into a practical joke."

Vette's grin drops slightly. "Well, I guess I won't do it often then, how's that sound? I just thought it'd be funny, I didn't think you'd hate it _so_ much."

"My lord," Quinn interjects and she is _so_ grateful, "If you wouldn't mind, could you tell us what happened today?"

"Right. I followed Sharack to the house of an old man named Izzeebowe Jeef," she begins, "He told me a little more about what Nomen Karr's apprentice did here. She completed something called the demons blood ritual, some primitive thing that the sand people here do. It involves subduing a beast, and using its blood to pass through a sand people village. I decided to do the same, so I followed where she went. I confronted the beast and it shed it's skin, covering me in that disgusting stuff."

"Oh gross," Vette grimaces, "That gunk was monster blood and slime? How disgusting."

Gimrizh has to agree, "It wasn't fun, that's for certain."

"Was the venture successful, my lord?" Quinn asks.

She nods, "I need to head to a second location tomorrow to find out more. I hope that by tracking the path of Nomen Karr’s apprentice and following in her footsteps I’ll be able to find the Jedi Yonlach - he’s the reason we’re on this dust bowl. I’ll be leaving in the morning for somewhere in the Desert Wound Ravine. Quinn, would you mind accompanying me tomorrow? Sharack indicated that I’ll be headed to a dangerous part of the desert and I would appreciate having someone to watch my back.”

“Of course, my lord. I would be honored,” He replies right away and she thinks that there’s a small smile on his face hidden behind layers of professionalism. Reading Quinn’s emotions is more like deciphering a complex riddle than the open book that Vette is. And she feels like every time she manages to peel back a layer to try and see the man beneath she loses ground instead of gaining it. Everytime she gets past the rigid politeness it snaps back into place a moment later. If he’s on her crew and on her ship then she’d like to know him. She knows Vette, but Quinn still hovers just on the edge of her perception.

Vette gasps sarcastically, “Don’t I get an invite?”

“Look carefully at what I’m wearing and think very hard about that question,” Gimrizh says slowly, giving her a cold stare.

“Fine,” Vette rolls her eyes and flops over dramatically, “I don’t really want to see more of Tatooine anyways. It’s a terrible planet and I’ve decided I hate it.”

And here she thought Vette enjoyed travel, “Is this about the heat again?”

“It’s really hot! And dry and there’s sand _everywhere_. And there’s just old backwater farmers here, and _Hutts_ , and far too many slaves,” Vette protests.

“Not particularly,” Quinn interjects, sounding more like a professor than an officer, “Tatooine’s slave population is below average for a planet of it’s size. It’s low agricultural yields don’t require large quantities of slaves, and it certainly doesn’t have as many architectural projects, unlike for example, Dromund Kaas.”

Vette glares at him, “Any slaves are too many slaves.”

“Slave labour is a central aspect of the economy,” Gimrizh absently recites, “Removal of the industry would result in economic collapse.”

“Krething hells,” Vette mutters, staring wide-eyed at Gimrizh like she had said she murdered babies or something, “You believe that bantha shit?”

“...Yes? I'm a Sith, I can't go against Imperial Doctrine like that.” Gimrizh replies, uncertain of what it is she’s said that infuriates Vette so much. She knows that Vette dislikes slavery from personal experience, but she also knows that slavery is a necessary aspect of Imperial society. She doesn't know what slavery is like, despite having been threatened with it over the years, but she does know that it only affects lesser beings like her. Society requires the lawful segregation to keep subspecies like her in line. Doesn’t it? Vette didn’t belong in the slave class, but some do. Right?

Vette looks at her sadly and stands up, “You have to open your eyes eventually,” she says quietly, and then walks out of the room to her quarters, leaving Gimrizh to stare at her vanishing back.

“What did I say…?” Gimrizh whispers, confused by the whole conversation. Hadn’t she just told the truth?

“Permission to speak freely, my lord?” Quinn asks and is that nervousness she can hear?

She nods, “Of course, Quinn. You really don’t need to ask.”

“Thank you, my lord,” he hesitates before saying what’s so clearly on the tip of his tongue. His first sentence is so obvious that she almost thinks he's confused about how much _she_ knows. “Vette is morally against slavery, probably due to having experienced it herself.”

The obvious front of the matter. “I know _that_. But it’s an economic institution to keep subspecies in line. It serves a purpose.”

“I’m not arguing with you on that front, my lord,” he says hurriedly, looking almost embarrassed that she thought that, “I’m merely saying that Vette likely is of the school of thought that slavery is oppressive towards subspecies. And, being a Twi’lek, probably disagrees with species segregation initiatives. To be frank, I’m surprised that you don’t agree with her. I presumed all subspecies were of similar thought.”

“Clearly not,” Gimrizh says quietly, and mostly to herself, “I received a _proper_ Imperial education, I know that my kind is inferior to humans and purebloods.”

Quinn looks rather stiff and just as confused and uncertain as she feels. “Yes, that’s what I was taught as well. But it isn’t quite as popular an opinion as it used to be - the Empire’s official stance on subspecies is well known, but with the rising contribution of the Chiss Ascendancy, there have been a few Moffs who disagree with the subspecies slave trade. I believe Vette assumed you were in agreement with them.”

“I…” she pauses and can’t quite find the words. “It’s not my place to question the Empire,” she says at last. It’s not her issue and while Vette can go about crusading with her head in the clouds, Gimrizh has to be practical. She has to keep her head down and do what she’s told or else Baras will rip her to shreds. Vette’s an idealist and she can’t afford to dream like that.

“As you say, my lord,” Quinn replies rigidly. He looks like there’s something else that he wants to say but whatever thought he’s pondering dies on his lips and is never voiced.

“I’m going to my quarters,” she murmurs, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He gives a sharp bow as she leaves the room, “Good night then, my lord.”

The door slides shut behind her and she fingers the hem of the fluffy pink hateful shirt thoughtfully. She can’t let Vette’s ideals distract her, not when her life is constantly on the line because of her work for Baras. The way of the Empire is everything she's ever known, everything she's ever been taught. Time to question such things is a luxury she doesn't have. Idealism comes second to survival. 

~*~

Gimrizh and Quinn leave _Horizon_ early in the morning before the two suns have fully risen so as to avoid the worst of the desert’s heat. They take a speeder to the Imperial outpost in Mos Anek, the closest place to the Desert Wound Ravine that official taxi routes will go. The output is built into a city that's been built into a cliffside and it's hardly the most luxurious place she's ever been to. It's mostly old and covered in sand, a supply post for the farmers and traders that make their living in the desert outskirts.

It’s easy to scramble down the mountainside to get to the ravine. Avoiding the sand people is trickier, but they only have to take out two groups of them before they end up standing in front of a cave that digs into the side of the cliff face.

Staring into the darkness of the cave, she can see a light around the bend and feel cool air on her face. There must be some source of water inside.

“Is Sharack Breev not joining us, my lord?” Quinn asks as she hesitates in front of the entrance.

She glances over her shoulder to scan the canyon behind them. There are any number of nooks and crannies in the rock that Sharack could be hiding in, and even though Gimrizh can sense the faint hum of the other woman’s presence hanging around, she can’t see her with her eyes. It’s to be expected, Sharack has spent years in this desert, and she’d know how to avoid being seen.

“She’ll be here when she chooses,” Gimrizh says lightly, not particularly worried, “She said she’d follow in the shadow of the dunes.” No, whatever Sharack is doing while she waits isn’t the issue. What concerns her is whatever awaits her inside the cave. “Quinn,” she continues, trying to get a clearer picture of whatever oddity in the force is haunting that cave, “Please wait by the cave’s entrance. There’s a strange tremor in the force.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” he protests, “But I would be remiss in my duties if I let you walk into danger unprotected.”

“I’ll be fine,” she says, even as she doubts the words herself, “This is force business. I know you’re good in a fight, but this is… something else. I’d like to look at it a bit more first. Izzeebowe Jeef said this is where Karr’s apprentice sought enlightenment, and I want to know what exactly that means. If Sharack arrives before I return, tell her not to enter either.”

He follows her gaze into the deep shadows of the cave, cast by high suns and steep rock formations. “Very well, my lord. I shall follow your instructions.”

“Thank you,” she takes her first steps into the cave and then keeps going further in, despite the tingle on her skin that keeps her on edge.

Deep in the cave is a large oasis below a huge open chasm filled with stalagmites. The water is a true blue, calm and still. Too still. There’s a light wind filtering in through the gap in the roof that tugs at Gimrizh’s hair and clothes, but there’s no movement on the water’s surface. Whatever strange phenomenon she senses in the force is originating from the oasis.

She steps cautiously into the edge of the water, the tips of her boots just skirting into the oasis. She can feel the push and pull of the force tie into the water, feel it swirl around her in little eddies that brush against her skin. It doesn’t feel malevolent or benign, not like the polarized feelings she gets off other Sith or Jedi. It’s just there, curiously examining her. She looks down at her unchanged reflection in the water’s surface and then the water finally moves, rippling till she can’t see her face anymore.

“ _Try not to blink_ ,” a voice whispers in her ear.

She whirls around only to come face to face with herself.

The double of her is exactly like her, from the face to the clothes to the tattoos, everything perfect except for the wicked sharp grin on the double’s lips. And there's a barely-there transparency to the double, a thinness around the edges of her form that hints at falseness. “Ah,” she says faintly, and then regains her composure, “So this is the trick of the oasis. I’ll assume that you are supposed to be some sort of ‘enlightenment’?”

The double slowly circles Gimrizh, in the same predatory manner that Gimrizh herself uses when she's trying to intimidate. It's strange to see her own mannerisms reflected like this. “ _I’m what you could be, if you prefer to think of it like that."_

“Are you a reflection of my emotions, or some sort of Jedi trick?” She asks calmly. There’s no reason for her to panic right away, and she doesn’t know if she could turn and leave even if she wanted to. There’s something very hypnotic about facing off her own reflection.

“ _Oh I’m ever so much more than that_ ,” the double drawls out, amused, “ _I’m_ you _in a much more substantial manner._ ”

Some sort of force reflection, it has to be. That was what the strange curiosity earlier had been about, it had been getting a read of her force signature so that whatever dormant force power lies in this oasis could mimic her. It can’t last forever, she knows that much. Any sort of force construct like this can’t maintain shape outside a living body for an extended period of time. Even if this thing, this twisted version of herself, tries to kill her, all she has to do is outlast it. Absently, she wonders what would have happened if Quinn had accompanied her inside. Would the oasis only effect force sensitives, or does it have the same properties no matter who enters?

“So you’re supposed to be _me_ , yes?” She asks calmly.

The double smirks at her, and stars, she hopes she isn’t actually this infuriating, “ _I_ am _you. Let’s see… We’re looking for Nomen Karr’s padawan, and we’re stuck on this planet so that we can track down Yonlach and use him to send a message to the padawan._ ”

So it can retain her thoughts and memories as well. Interesting. But still, no matter, she can outlast it if she can’t get it to fulfill whatever purpose it has. And it _must_ have some sort of purpose. “So you know what I’m here for. But whatever you are, you’re not me. You're just a..." she glances pointedly at the water's still surface, "reflection."

The amusement on the double’s face only grows, “ _Do you want to see yourself?_ _You lie to yourself about what you want and you hide from your own emotions like an ashamed child. We can be so much more than that, if you would only return and embrace what lies deep inside you."_

Gimrizh’s jaw twitches in annoyance. This is getting old fast. “No offense, but I'd prefer it if you just handed over whatever information or insight you are supposed to have and let me go on my merry way."

The double bursts out laughing, “ _Insight? For_ you _? You won't even fully embrace the dark side, how do you expect me to teach you anything as you are?_ _”_

Gimrizh freezes, her mind racing and her hands itching to reach for her lightsabers. "You must have been made faulty - I’m no stranger to the dark side of the force. It lives in me, my blood runs heavy with it, it guides my actions.”

“ _True_ ,” The double confirms, “ _All true. You know the dark side well, you know how powerful it makes us. So why are you denying it? Let it in! Stop acting self-righteous like a Jedi and open yourself to the full power of the dark side. You’ve been keeping it pressed down like an idiot, trying to deny your true self_. _You're a coward, Korribanil -_ ”

She has to keep up a calm facade. Whatever she gives this thing to work with, it’ll throw right back at her, “You know nothing. You’re an imperfect copy. I don't - Don't call me by my last name."

The double keeps on laughing, “ _Oh? What would you prefer.._. _How about 'Rineth'?_ ”

Every muscle in Gimrizh’s body freezes up, suddenly terrified because she knows precisely where this conversation is going, “I never said that. I never - I didn't want that, you don't know what you're - ”

“ _Really?”_ The double says, beginning to flicker around the edges. It's reading her too deeply - it's loosing power. Logically Gimrizh knows she doesn't have to endure this for much longer but - “ _I_ _think I know exactly what I’m talking about. You got a little deeper into the dark side than you expected and got scared off._

“Shut up,” she demands.

“ _You saw what you could become and recoiled away from it. You walk among Sith and you lie to yourself about how deeply you are one of them. They’ll catch the stench of the light on you, Baras will smell it and strike you down without mercy. That’s not what you want, is it? You’re so terrified of dying, aren’t you? We used to be strong, a couple years ago you could crush your enemies without remorse. Now look at you. You’ve abandoned power. You’ve abandoned the depths you reached before. You’ve clung to fear and cowardice so as to survive."_

She’ll kill it. She’ll kill this twisted reflection.

“ _So scared of dying. And why? It’s part of the force after all, just another step in the process of living. Are you really scared of having it all be over? Or are you more scared of who you’ll meet on the other side?”_ It laughs again, a sound like shattered glass that refuses to echo, “ _You_ should _be scared. Once you get past everyone you’ve slaughtered over the years then you still have to face one last person, don’t you? What would dear Yaina-”_

"I said  _shut up!_ _"_

" _Stop running away from her death-"_

“You don’t get to _speak_!” Gimrizh screams, stabbing her lightsaber through her own heart with the fury of both the suns above her and all the fear that ripples through her body like a live wire.

Her lightsaber burns a hole in her double’s chest and the thing stumbles backwards. The laugh doesn’t fade.

“ _Keep hold of that fury, remember your anger_ ,” It whispers to her, glowing with a bright blue light, “ _You’ll need it.”_

And then it steps _into_ her.

It doesn’t burn like fire or freeze like ice, it just floods her senses entirely and consumes her sight until all she can see is darkness. And then… something else.

She can see a hut in the desert, and then a strange rock formation nearby.

“ _Yonlach…_ ” the double’s fading voice says, _“His encampment. Just beyond the forbidden pass, on the edge of the Dune Sea_.”

The darkness blinds her again and she falls numbly to her knees as she tries to regain her sight, “How can you possibly know this?”

“ _The same way I know you_.”

Then everything vanishes.

Like pulling back a curtain, her vision returns to her and she manages to get back on her feet. The water still pulls at the tips of her boots but it ripples steadily from the breeze. The force presence here retreats. It does not vanish and she can still feel it at the edge of her limited senses, but it steps backwards, as though making the point to her that the conversation is over.

“Well…” she says, blinking heavily and feeling like someone shot a blaster bolt through her, “What was the _point_ of all that?”

But she straightens up and dusts herself off and walks outside, because she has to and she doesn’t have a choice, no matter how much she wants to run off to some distant corner of the galaxy and curl up into a ball like a pathetic child scared of its own shadow.

Quinn is waiting for her by the entrance, just like she asked, and Sharack Breev is there too, flittering about in the space between the desert suns and the cave’s shadow.

“My lord, welcome back,” Quinn says politely and then pauses. He must see something in her expression that’s unusual because he frowns ever so slightly and asks, “Forgive my presumption, but are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she waves it off immediately. She never wishes to speak of this again, “I had a vision in the oasis, I know where to find Yonlach. He’s in a house in the Dune Sea, just past some geological formation known as the Forbidden Pass. We’ll head out there as soon as possible, I don’t want him to somehow catch wind of what we’re doing and run again.”

He quickly nods, not pressing the issue, “Of course, my lord.”

Sharack panics - that’s the only word that can describe her sudden fidgety fear and her darting eyes and her gaping mouth, “I- no- You can’t go beyond the Forbidden Pass! The area beyond is a place where no one, not even the sand people, dare to go. I have never ventured there and the place beyond chills be to the bone.”

“Your concern for me is unnecessary,” Gimrizh says dismissively. She’s done so called ‘impossible’ things before, this won’t be the first time and it certainly won’t be the last time she’s beaten the odds. “If you are bothered, you need not go.”

“I won’t follow you there,” Sharack says, “I  _can’t_.”

Gimrizh tries to give her a comforting look but she can’t get her face to cooperate, “You’ve done enough. Thank you.”

Sharack holds out a data chip, “With a heavy heart, I give you the coordinates. The Jedi you’re looking for will be somewhere beyond that pass. I am ashamed that my cowardice paralyses me. I fear I will never see you again.”

Gimrizh takes the chip and gives her a stiff nod before Sharack turns tail and skitters back into the sand dunes where she came from, “I have no intention of dying in this desert,” she mutters to herself as Sharack vanishes.

“That certainly was ominous,” Quinn comments and she thinks that maybe, if she hadn’t just been in that oasis, she could have laughed at that.

“Let’s go find Yonlach,” she says instead, because what else can she say? He hesitates behind her for just a moment and she almost snaps out, “What’s wrong?”

He almost doesn’t ask, “Are you quite sure you’re alright, my lord?”

“I said, I’m fine,” She repeats, “I just had a strange vision in there. Someone who I used to be. It unnerved me a bit, that’s all. I’m _fine_. Now let’s go, before it gets dark.

They trek back to Mos Anek where Quinn deals with a taxi to take them to the Imperial Outpost Zaroshe. Gimrizh spends the entirety of the speeder ride staring out into the desert and remaining silent.

All she has to do is find Yonlach. She’ll hunt him down and do something to him to send a message. Maybe not kill him, but definetly find out what the padawan is up to and use that link they share to talk to her through him. She’d quite like to know who she’s up against, and what the padawan who she’s supposed to be turning to the dark side is like. A doubt enters her mind that sounds an awful lot like the mocking vision from the cave. How can she turn the padawan when she doesn’t even properly serve the dark side herself? It’s ridiculous of course, because she _does_ serve the dark side, she’s served it all her life. But that’s the problem with doubts. They don’t have to have any reason or logic backing them up and they stick in the mind anyways.

The speeder pulls into Zaroshe in the middle of the afternoon. A good time, they should be able to get to Yonlach and back before both suns sink down and plunge this section of the desert into night. She wants to get this over and done with as soon as possible so that she can head to a nicer and less deserted planet.

The Dune Sea stretches before them, a wide open expanse of sand that goes out farther than she can see, with no apparent end. It just keeps on going till her eyes can’t see anything else, wrapping around the curve of the planet and vanishing.

There’s no way she’s going in there on foot. She turns back to the taxi pad and ignores the pilot droids, going straight up to one of the human workers there.

“You want to let me use that speeder,” she tells the worker firmly, dragging her fingers in front of his eyes. She hates mind manipulation and has no talent for it, but she's also desperate to leave this planet as soon as possible.

He blinks twice and then repeats, “I want to let you use that speeder.”

“Thanks,” she mutters as she grabs the speeder’s keys, “Come on Quinn.”

Quinn scowls briefly at the stolen speeder, apparently adverse to crime, even though she’s just borrowing it not permanently keeping it. But after a moment he hops in too and takes the driver's seat as she slides over to make room. He revs up the speeder’s engines and then they’re off into the desert.

Gimrizh slides the data chip into a small reader and props it up on the dashboard. The faint blue holo has a number of odd marking that Sharack must have made over the years, pointing out places in the desert with phrases like ‘banthas here’ and ‘Jawa caravan route’. She moves around the map until finding the rock formation labeled as the Forbidden Pass complete with a note that reads ‘do not go beyond’.

How cheery.

Her eyes scan the desert as they zip past the rocky outcroppings that mark the beginning of the Dune Sea and the end of the Jundland Wastes. Beyond here there are no more outposts, Imperial or Republic, and there aren’t any more farming towns. Just desert and whatever pirates or lawbreakers who have decided to live in it. Including but not limited to, one old Jedi Master.

She catches sight of a tall rock spire ahead of them, formed in a strange shape with a drastic divot near the top, resulting in what looks like a pin stuck in the sands. It's exactly the sight she saw in her vision.

"That's the Forbidden Pass," she points out to Quinn, "Yonlach's encampment should be in that direction." She turns her finger to the north western desert, guided by intuition and the slight hum of the force that tells her she's heading in the right direction.

Quinn turns the speeder towards where she's pointing, and as they crest over the top of a dune, Gimrizh can see a tiny building nestled between two sand banks. It's small and round, tan as the desert and with a few cloth sun shades spread over the top, like all buildings on Tatooine. Barely anything is above ground, a design meant to keep out the heat.

"There." She stands up in the speeder to lean forward and get a better glimpse, "That's the house I saw in my vision."

She snatched up the holo map and stuffs it in her pockets. Her fingers tap at her lightsaber hilt just to reassure her of its comforting presence. It's warm from the sun and the metal is smooth beneath her touch. She can do this.

Quinn pulls the speeder right up to the closed front door of the hut and they get out cautiously.

"It's too quiet," Gimrizh mutters, looking around the circumstance of the hut.

"Do they know we're here, my lord?" Quinn asks, drawing his blaster.

She can feel the tension in the force, like a taut wire ready to snap. "Undoubtedly," she replies, and then knocks on the door.

She knocks twice and then the third knock slams the door open.

There are two people inside the hut. One, an old man sitting behind a desk and two, a younger man who leaps in front to his master's defense as soon as they enter. Yonlach, and a new padawan for him to train.  Gimrizh stalks inside and blocks the door, Quinn standing guard to her right, his back to the wall of the house and his blaster at the ready.

"So," Yonlach says in a voice as steady as rock and as airy as the sands, "You are the Sith who has been tracking me."

"Pleasure to make your acquaintance," she confirms with a flippant little bow.

The apprentice glares at her and readies his lightsaber, "Master, let me handle this one."

Yonlach stands and moves to stand next to his apprentice, "No, Yul-li. Not yet," he turns his head back to the two of them, "I know why you've come. Nomen Karr's padawan threatens you somehow. By using me, you seek to flush her into the open and silence her. You are aware of the mental link we have and wish to exploit it. Am I wrong?"

She quirks an eyebrow and says dryly, "You see it correctly."

"Then I shall warn you," Yonlach begins, "She is strong of will and will not fall to your manipulations."

"You're making a lot of presumptions," Gimrizh replies, not sure if she's lying or not, "I just mean to speak with her."

Yonlach clearly doesn't believe her for a second, "I won't fall for your manipulations either. The disparity in our abilities is comparable to the disparity in our ages. You cannot win. Turn away now."

There's no way he actually thinks that will work, "I've come a bit too far to turn back."

"Pity," Yonlach gestures to his overeager apprentice, "Yul-li here is a powerful fighter, well versed in lightsaber combat. And I am a master, the likes of which you've never faced before. If you truly think you can win then you are deluding yourself."

Regardless of what he says, no matter the gap in skill, she still has no choice. If she can't defeat him, Baras will kill her for her failure. Choices are a luxury that she no longer has.

"My lord," Quinn says quietly to her, voice lowered so as to keep the two Jedi from hearing, "I know I'm not Sith, but the threat is not lost on me. Are you certain we can face a Jedi knight and a Jedi master?"

She tries to look reassuring, "Don't worry, Quinn. I'm confident we will have the upper hand."

"It matters not," Yonlach cuts in, "As you will face us alone."

Before she can ask what the hells that means, Yonlach waves his hand and she feels a tug on the force. And Quinn collapses.

"Quinn! Yonlach, what did you _do_?" Gimrizh falls to her knees and hurriedly presses her finger to his pulse, because if Yonlach has just _killed Quinn_... There will be _hell_ to pay. But there's a faint heartbeat of a pulse that presses against her fingertips and she sighs in relief. Her racing heart slows and she turns the full brunt of her focus to the Jedi, a cold glaring sort of focus that toes the line of blind rage. "You made a big mistake, you fucking  _bastard_."

"You have the disadvantage now," Yonlach says, still calm, like he doesn't know what he just did. "Stand down."

"I don't respond well to threats," she practically snarls at him. Her lightsaber is in her hand before she even is aware she drew it and her fingers ghost over the switch, itching to let everything ignite.

Yul-li brandishes his lightsaber and looks down at her as though she’s not on the same level of intelligence as him, “It’s useless to reason with Sith,” he says arrogantly.

His lightsaber blazes green and he lunges for her. An instant later, Yonlach ignites his blue saber and joins in to guard his apprentice. Gimrizh rolls to the side, flicking her blade to the ready and then throws herself into the fight with reckless abandon.

Her heart races as she struggles to keep up. She whirls out of one strike only to have to block Yonlach’s rapidly descending lightsaber, and then throws him off only to deflect a blow from Yul-li and then counter Yonlach again as he rushes back at her. Yul-li leaps in front of his master to strike out at her with a lightning fast exchange of hits that presses her back against the wall.

Barely a moment in and she’s already pinned down. Damn it all to hell and back.

Yul-li slices at her with his saber, short blurry slashes that sear into the plaster of the wall as she ducks and spins out of his way at the last second, limited by the wall behind her. At least Yul-li’s aggressive offense is keeping Yonlach from joining the fray as well, and the old master is hanging back from the fight, but still watching and waiting. She blocks Yul-li’s next strike and then stabs straight at his kidneys.

Her blade burns through his side as he dodges just a second too lowly. He grasps at his side, wincing in pain.

Taking advantage of his distraction, Gimrizh kicks off the wall and somersaults over his head to cross blades with Yonlach. The old master is certainly strong and powerful, but it’s clear his area of expertise lies in manipulation of the force, not in the physical brunt of lightsaber combat. He’s still damn good though.

Their blades clash together a dozen times a second before Gimrizh pulls back and ducks just in time to avoid Yul-li’s wild strike for her head. He joins his master once again, forcing her back on the defensive.

She weaves around the room as they attack. Yul-li strikes at her shoulder, her heart, her head, and she parries his blows as fast as she can, before twirling around Yonlach’s quicker light strikes. It’s a pattern in which neither of them gain or lose ground. They block everything she throws at them and in turn she ensures that she’s always a second faster than their strikes, always just not there enough to avoid death.

Yonlach breaks the pattern and sends the desk careening through the air towards her.

She blocks Yul-li’s blade, shoves him off her, and then manages to bring her hand up just in time to stop herself from being flattened. Grabbing onto the force with everything she has, she wrestles control of the desk from Yonlach and hurtles it right back at him.

He throws both his hands up to try and stop it but she tightens her grip on the force and doesn’t let up. In the second before the desk hits him, he slices it in two with his lightsaber and the two halves pass him by. The wood crashes into the wall and Yonlach lowers into a fighting stance and holds his saber at the ready.

Yul-li whirls back to slam his blade into her but she’s ready for him this time. The force is buzzing beneath her skin and she’s boiling over from the tension of the oasis and the irritation of whatever it is about Tatooine that she hates. She lets herself tumble to the floor and rolls forward, passing under his blade with ease and as she pulls herself up behind him she sweeps her lightsaber against the backs of his legs.

He cries out in pain and falls to his knees, lightsaber falling uselessly from his hands. One down.

Before Yonlach can rush to his apprentice’s defense, she reaches out with the force to the chunks of the wooden desk that litter the floor. She clenches her hand. Every single sharp shard of wood rises into the air on her command and points towards Yonlach.

She holds everything in place now. Yonlach won’t move because she’s holding his life in her hands. Yul-li _can’t_ move and is looking at his master with outright fear.

“Please…” Yul-li begs, looking up at her with desperate eyes, “Spare my master. I’ll tell you whatever you wish to know if you’ll only let Yonlach live.”

Interesting. So the bonds between teachers and students in the Jedi Order are stronger than they claim. “You have remarkable devotion,” she comments, turning her attention to the apprentice but still keeping Yonlach pinned down. “I want to know everything about the apprentice that trained under Yonlach, Nomen Karr’s padawan.”

He glances back at a stunned Yonlach and agrees, “Her name is Jaesa Willsaam and she’s in-”

“You have no recollection of the padawan of whom we speak,” Yonlach hurriedly says, bringing his hand up to brush past in apprentice’s eyes, just like he did earlier to Quinn.

Yul-li’s eyes go blank and he mindlessly repeats, “I have no recollection of the padawan of whom we speak.”

“Now sleep,” Yonlach adds and Yul-li passes out, his head hitting the ground with a thud.

Damn it. All she got is a name, and she had been so close to a location too. Gimrizh takes a cautious step towards Yonlach, the shards of wood trembling as she moves, “You don’t play fair, do you?”

“Jaesa is special,” he says firmly, unshaken by what he has done and the possibility of what she can do to him, “She has the potential to lead the Jedi to greatness, by erasing the rot of the dark side that hides in our order. You may kill me, you may kill a dozen others, but no one will let you come near Jaesa.”

“Don’t you listen?” Gimrizh says sharply, “I don’t mean her any harm. You Jedi, you keep speaking about surrender and letting in the light, and all that rubbish, and then you assume the worst of everyone you meet. Your order isn’t some great peaceful band, you’re just a bunch of self-righteous hypocrites.”

Yonlach shakes his head slowly at her, “I don’t believe you. I will find tranquility so that Jaesa will sense only peace as you strike me down.”

What will it take for him to shut up and listen? She can’t very well send a message to the apprentice if he refuses to hear her out. She lowers her lightsaber meaningfully and sighs, “I'm not going to kill you now. I only want to _talk_.”

As if finally getting the message, he looks her in the eyes and slowly his face changes from resigned stoicism to something that’s almost surprised. “You’re not what I expected from a Sith,” he says at last, “Because of our link, Jaesa is already aware of what transpired here. She will do with this what she will.”

“Can she hear what I say?” Gimrizh asks.

He deactivates his lightsaber at last, “Yes, she can.”

“Good,” Gimrizh strides closer to him and looks him straight in the eye like she could almost see through him to the padawan on the other side of the galaxy, “Hello Jaesa Willsaam,” she says as peacefully as she can with the dredges of the dark side draining from her system, “I apologize for hurting your old master, and I’m sorry that it has come to this. Neither of us were given a choice. Nomen Karr is using you to hunt my master, Darth Baras, and my master is using me to hunt you. I have been ordered to either kill you, or turn you to the dark side. I ask that you consider the second option, if only for your own sake. That is the only way you will be able to survive. I hope you will come to a conclusion before we meet again. Killing you would be a travesty,” she pauses and then adds, “We are the both of us, mere pawns in a game played by more powerful pieces.”

She turns away from Yonlach and lets the wood fall to the floor with a clatter. He takes a deep breath and says quietly, “You have given me much to ponder.”

“Good,” she goes to kneel by Quinn and orders, “Now if you don’t wake my friend you _will_ force my hand.”

Yonlach obeys with a wave of his hand and she watches as Quinn slowly comes back to life.

“Quinn?” She asks anxiously as he sits up and puts a hand to his head, “Are you alright?”

He winces at the bright light, taking a moment for his vision to adjust before focusing on her, “I’m alright, my lord. I apologize - I...”

Gimrizh lets out a sigh of relief and offers him her hand, “There’s nothing to apologize for, honestly.”

“Still,” he says, gratefully taking her hand and letting her help him to his feet, “I dislike being caught unawares and I should have anticipated the Jedi’s incapacitating tactic,” he glances over at Yonlach, who is currently hovering over his apprentice, “The Jedi are still alive?”

“I completed my task. The padawan got my message,” she tells him, “We’re done here.”

“Of course, my lord,” he agrees, giving one last look back at the two Jedi before following her outside.

She slides into the speeder, deciding that she’s going to fly back this time and glares at Quinn when he tries to take the wheel from her. He was just unconscious there is no way she’s letting him fly. Besides, she’s completely capable of taking care of herself. “Sharack will be waiting for us by _Horizon_ ,” she says as she starts the engines, “Let’s go surprise her, shall we?”

~*~

Night has fallen by the time their speeder finally pulls into Mos Ila. The desert is still alive with people, the city a scattered patchwork of lights in the endless night time darkness that cloaks a planet that shines with twice as much light in the day. A sky full of unfamiliar stars hangs over their heads, almost close enough to touch.

Sharack Breev is pacing nervously inside the hangar bay, with a consolidating Vette talking to her in a slow quiet voice. Both look up when they enter.

“Hey!” Vette says, her usual cheer only slightly muffled, “You guys are back. How’d the super secret Sith stuff go?”

Even though Quinn huffs at her statement in an annoyed manner and Gimrizh rolls her eyes fondly, she can’t deny that it’s good to be back out of the desert. “It went well,” Gimrizh reports, “We found Yonlach. Things are moving along and Darth Baras’ plans will be furthered by our work here.”

Sharack stumbles over to them and looks shocked, “I… I never thought to see either of you again.”

“Always glad to exceed expectations,” Gimrizh comments dryly.

“This has been a great lesson for me,” Sharack says slowly, her voice low and thoughtful, “The only barriers that existed were in my mind. I will never again assume I know all there is to know and I shall explore the entirety of the desert without reservation. I hope Lord Baras knows how fortunate he is to have such a fine champion shepherding his cause.”

Behind the three of them, Vette shrugs and makes a ‘crazy’ gesture directed at Sharack. Gimrizh shoots a glance at Vette that gets her to promptly stop it. “I’m glad to have opened your mind,” Gimrizh says to Sharack instead.

Sharack smiles at her and bows respectfully, “I shall never forget you. Save travels.”

She steps out of the hangar bay with the same oddly absent air that she had when she entered the hangar bay days ago. Still such a peculiar woman. Gimrizh wonders why a woman with her head firmly focused on the desert has the temperament to work for someone so absorbed with the bigger picture as Baras is. She can understand why Quinn ended up working for Baras, but Sharack just seems like she wandered into the job by accident.

“She was… peculiar,” Quinn comments as Sharack disappears back into the desert.

The corner of Gimrizh’s mouth tugs up a little and she replies, “Oh, that’s putting it mildly. Still, she served well,” she puts her foot on the hard durasteel of the gangplank and feels just a little bit lighter, “Prep the ship for take off. I’m going to holo Darth Baras.”

Quinn bows with a polite agreement and Vette snaps a sarcastic salute, but the two of them get to work as soon as she gives the order. She steps into _Horizon_ ’s hull with the welcome feeling of returning to something familiar. She pulls off the bulky lightsaber belt from around her waist and drops it on her bed before stepping back into the main room.

She punches in Baras’ holo frequency and steps back as the image illuminates the room. “Master,” she says in greeting, keeping her head bowed.

Baras looks down at her and clasps his hands behind his back, “What is your progress in finding the Jedi Master Yonlach?”

“I hunted him down as you ordered,” she informs him, “I used him to send a message to Nomen Karr’s apprentice, and master, I found out her name,” she almost whispers, like imparting a great secret, “Jaesa Willsaam.”

She can feel the smugness radiating off of Baras even though she can’t see his face, “Jaesa Willsaam,” he muses, “Then your time there was well spent. This Jaesa Willsaam no longer enjoys anonymity. With your attack on Yonlach you have sent the message that she cannot hide from us. It will gnaw at the master and bring his prized padawan to her knees.”

“Shall I go to Alderaan next, master?” Gimrizh asks, even though she’s sure she already knows the answer.

“Yes,” Baras agrees, “Only Alderaan remains. Contact me when you arrive on the planet and I shall give further instructions.”

She bows one final time as he vanishes from the holo.

It’s done, at last. They can depart the sandy desert of Tatooine for some decent planet. Alderaan is apparently a pinnacle of civilization and well renowned for its natural beauty and magnificent cities. After seedy Nar Shaddaa and dusty Tatooine, it’ll be good to go somewhere truly beautiful. She knows there’s great beauty in the galaxy, she’s seen the majesty of Dromund Kaas and she wants to see more.

Quinn steps on board _Horizon_ and hovers by the edge of the main room, “My lord, we’re ready to depart at your command,” he tells her.

“Did Vette fill up the fuel tanks while we were gone?” Gimrizh says, already moving to the bridge.

Almost reluctantly, Quinn replies, “Yes, she did.”

They’ll learn to get along yet. “Good,” she slides into her chair on the bridge and pulls up the holo map to program Alderaan into the ship’s computer. “Is she on board?”

There’s a brief scuffle as Vette’s boots skid on the durasteel deck, “I’m here!” she announces, “I pulled up the gangplank behind me and _Horizon_ 's all ready to move out as soon as you want her off this planet!”

“Then let’s put this sector behind us, shall we?” Gimrizh queries as her two crew members take their seats and power up the ship’s engines.

“Now you’re speaking my language,” Vette says enthusiastically. She starts to put enough power into the ignition drive to get them airborne as Quinn programs the hyperspace coordinates into the terminal and contacts the port authority for clearance. She sighs and folds her hands behind her lekku, “I want to go somewhere nice and pretty.”

Quinn absently nods, apparently unaware that he’s agreeing with Vette, “Tatooine is an overheated dust bowl. It’ll be good to get off it.”

“I agree,” Gimrizh says, thinking about her inherent dislike of the planet, “And we’re going to Alderaan next.”

“Woohoo!” Vette cheers, “Sounds pretty. Alderaan’s got stunning views, good shopping, and really fancy museums. Kinda funny actually, that we’re going to a planet with museums when we can see some of the real deal right on Tatooine. Did you know that there’s a number of krayt dragon skeletons apparently lying around in the Dune Sea?”

“Merely old things buried in the sand,” Gimrizh says bitterly, “Just like Korriban.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alderaan is coming up!  
> Thoughts, opinions, let me know! Again, I still need a beta/editor/person who tells me when I'm being dumb, so if you like doing that sort of thing, let me know!  
> my tumblr is @semper-draca if you like that thing


	5. Ice Moons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took kind of a while, but in my defense, it's the longest one yet? Also Alderaan is just too pretty to live. So enjoy a chapter in which Vette and Quinn try to figure out who the hell Gimrizh is, with mixed results. Also there are Jedi.

Alderaan is spectacular. Malavai’s seen holos of the planet before, but he’s never had the pleasure of actually visiting or setting foot on the world itself. Even before touching down in the Rhu Caenas spaceport, it’s a beautiful planet to look at. Picturesque mountains blanketed in a heavy layer of snow are illuminated by the light of the rising sun and punctuated by sweeping green valleys. It’s a pity that a place known for it’s beauty can’t resolve the civil war that it’s constantly embroiled in.

Vette has apparently been to Alderaan before, and she refused to remain silent about it all throughout the journey here. She’s the only one who has, as Malavai discovers when he sees the Lord Gimrizh staring out the viewport as they touch down in the spaceport. From the moment _Horizon_ breaks the atmosphere level to as soon as they land, she keeps her eyes glued on the scenery and the beauty of the planet. When she goes to holo Lord Baras, it’s clear she can barely bring herself to leave the bridge.

He’s been trying to understand her so that he can put _something_ in his reports to Baras, but it’s been a more difficult assignment than he anticipated. She’s has the experience of someone who’s spent their whole life fighting, but she’s also inexperienced in odd ways. Like right now, as they navigate the wide vistas and busy streets of the House Thul capital. There’s thick banks of snow lining the streets and dusting the rooftops and Gimrizh can’t quite remove the expression of awe from her face. She doesn’t walk in a perfectly straight path, she goes out of her way to step in the snow instead. Has she never seen snow before? Of course, if she lived on Korriban all her life, she wouldn’t have, but it just seems a bit surreal that this person who he recently saw put a lightsaber through someone’s head is so intrigued by snow.

Malavai’s supposed to be learning where her loyalties really lie - particularly if she believes some of the more _unusual_ things that Vette says. And yet every time he tries to figure out what she’s thinking or why she does some of the questionable things she does, his picture of her blurs instead of sharpening.

Three Jedi. She’s fought three Jedi and let every single one of them live. He’s reluctant to label her actions as anti-Imperial, but it’s a damning count against her. And yet in her earlier conversation with Vette she had expressed very speciesist views that fall in line with Imperial policy, which honestly had been the one thing he had thought she would be against. She’s confusing and it’s highly frustrating. He hasn’t made his most recent report to Baras yet - he’s still unsure what to say. And he’s well aware that his words will directly affect whether she lives or dies.

It’s easier to focus on the job in front of him.

Their next contact is one of Lord Baras’ less… diligent spies, a Thul Duke by the name of Kendoh who is supposed to be tracking down Jaesa Willsaam. To that effect, they are heading to the House Thul chamber of politics, a large silvery building that scraps high into the cloudy sky, dwarfed only by the Thul palace.

“Looks ostentatious,” Gimrizh mutters to herself as they enter the building. She directs this comment at a large gold vase that serves no apparent purpose beyond the aesthetic.

“Alderaan has one of the largest planetary GDP’s in the core systems,” Malavai mentions to her.

She glances around at the glimmer and the high ceilings and shrugs, “I can believe that. It’s so excessive.”

A pushy looking servant rushes up to them as soon as Malavai puts one foot over the entry way. “Pardon me,” the servant asks, “Is there anything I can help you with today?”

“Yes,” the Lord Gimrizh replies immediately, “Where is Duke Kendoh?”

The servant sniffs and gives her a stern look, “Do you have an appointment?”

Gimrizh brushes back her robe to put a hand on her lightsaber hilt. She just raises an eyebrow calmy at the man as she taps her thin fingers on the cold metal. His face pales and thin beads of sweat form on his brow as she calmly asks, “Do I _need_ an appointment?”

“Straight through that corridor, two doors down, you can’t miss him,” the man hurriedly says, face white, before rushing off to get as far away from them as possible.

Another peculiarity, Malavai thinks as they set off in the direction the servant had specified. Gimrizh easily terrifies others and yet he’s never found her to be cruel to either him or Vette. Does she just use her status as Sith for intimidation? In fact, when he thinks about it, he can’t remember her ever giving him a reason to be scared of her. He can recognize when others fear her, but she’s never turned that threat on her crew.

The directions lead to a large pair of closed doors, gilded and decorated with the same air of pretentiousness that adorns the rest of the building. At least Imperial architecture doesn’t deviate into this world of gaudiness. The most prestigious buildings on Dromund Kaas are barely different in style from a star destroyer.

Gimrizh places her hand on the door and with barely the slightest effort sends the two doors crashing open.

“What?!” Protests a richly dressed man who whirls to face them. A couple bodyguards, Sith in nature going by the lightsabers they wield, freeze up as well and almost draw their weapons. Gimrizh does seem to have a penchant for dramatic entrances. The man, Kendoh, likely enough, punches off of the holocall he had been participating in and demands, “Who are you!?”

“I do hope we’re expected,” Gimrizh says in a droll tone.

The frequent commentary that she gives is almost endearing. “We were told to have an appointment, my lord,” Malavai reminds her, “I doubt we could have been expected.”

She smirks at him for the briefest of moments that somehow lasts much longer, “Oh yes, I suppose we did burst in rather unannounced,” Then she turns back to Kendoh and her expression suddenly darkens ever so slightly, “You’re Duke Kendoh, aren’t you? I’m rather disappointed, I had presumed that you would have a good reason for abandoning my master’s search for Jaesa Willsaam.”

Kendoh looks down his nose at her, “So you’re one of Baras’ numerous busybodies. I don’t appreciate being interrupted. Your little ‘master’ isn’t even on my radar - I have a war to wage and personal ambitions to achieve.”

“Is breathing one of your personal ambitions?” Gimrizh asks lightly.

“A threat?” Kendoh sneers and gestures to the bodyguards around the room, “See the Sith I have guarding me? They’re here to put you in your place. FimmRess! Why don’t you show this overconfident _guest_ a lesson?”

The Sith exchange nervous looks and it’s their hesitation that keeps Malavai from reaching for his blaster. Gimrizh doesn’t move either, standing calmly and crossing her arms.

“We may serve you,” the Sith named FimmRess says at last, “But we serve the Empire first. None of us will cross Baras.”

“It’s good some people still have respect,” Gimrizh comments cooly.

The Sith nods his head to her, “We consider you and your master an ally in this.”

Kendoh’s confident exterior falters momentarily, “Well. I wasn’t expecting that. It seems I may have been a touch hasty regarding the needs of your master. Sometimes the rush of politics can distract from more meaningful endeavors, can it not? How may I make amends?”

“Do your job,” Gimrizh tells him, “And all will be well.”

“In that case, I pledge myself to your directive. And I suppose as I aid you…” he pauses and then adds, “You could aid me in return. As I recall, I was supposed to be tracking the family of an Alderaanian girl. But it wasn’t a particularly successful venture. Information about her is hard to come by. I only managed to uncover one lead. This…”

“Jaesa Willsaam. Her name is Jaesa Willsaam,” Gimrizh reminds him dryly.

Kendoh shrugs, “Yes, Willsaam matches the description of a former House Alde handmaiden. This handmaiden served the ah… _distinguished_ Lady Renata. I’ve had the lady questioned already but she’s protected by a champion of House Alde. Neither me nor my men could get near her. The man’s never his match in melee.”

Gimrizh seems undeterred. “He’s never met _me_.”

“Yes I see your point,” Kendoh says hurriedly, “But still, it won’t be easy. House Alde may be a relatively small player when compared to the large houses that dominate Alderaanian politics, but they are aligned with House Organa. That shall pose no small threat. Her estate is effectively in enemy territory and is very well defended. And er… I would be rather _personally_ grateful if you could arrange to have Lady Renata brought to me for questioning. There would be something _substantial_ in it for you if you were to agree to this situation.”

“You can barely do your own job,” Gimrizh says frostily, “Don’t tell me how to do mine.”

“It was only a request,” Kendoh quickly backtracks before pressing a button on his commlink, “As a gesture of my goodwill, I’ll arrange for you and your crew to stay in a luxury suite during the entire length of your tenure on Alderaan. Whatever you need will be available at any hour of the day or night, and I would be _honored_ if you would join me for dinner this evening.”

Well that’s a rather obvious way to try and save face. The duke had only moments ago been insulting Gimrizh and now he’s trying to court her favor. At least Malavai knows that Gimrizh is clever enough to notice the blunt play for what it is. He _does_ wonder what exactly Kendoh wants this Lady Renata for so badly, but he probably doesn’t want to know. Something distasteful, no doubt.

“How amiable of you, Duke Kendoh,” Gimrizh replies, her tone flat. Cleary she’ll refuse to bend to the duke’s maneuvering. “Then I shall see you later.”

She turns sharply on her heel and exchanges a brief, but honest nod with the Sith bodyguards. At least they have the guards on their side, considering how obviously untrustworthy Kendoh is.

At the door, a mousy servant skuttles up to the both of them and bows, “Duke Kendoh has instructed me to show you to your suite, sir.” It’s only after she speaks that Malavai becomes aware that she’s speaking to _him_ , not to Gimrizh. That’s… highly confusing. For fuck’s sake, he isn’t even carrying a lightsaber.

But despite the extreme rudeness and the way the servant seems to ignore Gimrizh completely, the lord herself isn’t annoyed by it at all. It’s almost like she’s used to it. She just sighs and gives the servant a bland look, “I know I don’t seem much, but _I_ am the Sith, not my captain.”

The girl squeaks, “Forgive me, my lord, I didn’t mean to presume-”

“It’s fine,” Gimrizh replies, “Just show us to whatever accommodations Kendoh has provided and you’ll have done your job.”

The servant makes a noise that sounds something like ‘eeep’ and then scurries ahead of them, showing them through the vast halls of House Thul with the air of someone who would rather be anywhere else in the galaxy.

“This place is massive,” Gimrizh comments as they head up a flight of stairs, “How big _is_ House Thul? What do they need all this space for?”

After a moment when it becomes clear that the servant isn’t going to answer that question, Malavai realizes that she’s not only addressing him, but also that she really doesn’t have any idea at all and her question wasn’t rhetorical, “I don’t think it _is_ necessary, my lord. Many planets with a monarchy such as Alderaan or Naboo spend their wealth on large palaces or cities like these. It’s a rather common way to show off monetary status.”

She frowns at a hovering chandelier, “How useless. It’s pretty, though.”

If Alderaan put their money into funding their war effort, then House Thul might have already taken control of the planet and begun contributing to the Empire. Instead, they waste time and energy on pointless political ventures and in-fighting. The Empire needs a united Alderaan to back them, not just half the planet partially providing funding. In part, that’s one of the reasons why Kendoh has been so slack in his efforts to track down the Jedi padawan. Alderaan is so consumed by their petty civil war that they can’t look outside their own system and consider the large ramifications of their little squabble.

They arrive at a suite twenty floors up and the servant girl promptly runs off as soon as Gimrizh so much as glances at her.

“Stars, this place is ridiculously large,” Gimrizh mutters as they look around the enormous suite. It’s the same golden and marble as the rest of the palace, with a huge sweeping balcony and a number of doors lining a central room. “Vette’ll be happy, I suppose. I’ve a feeling she’s the sort to appreciate all this gold. What time is it?”

Malavai checks his chrono, “Eleven minutes past noon.”

“Great,” she looks almost happy by that, “Enough time for me to make my way to Lady Renata and _conveniently_ miss having dinner with Kendoh. Or maybe I'll send Vette in my place - that would infuriate him," she thinks on that before dismissing it, "No, that'd be cruel to Vette. Oh well, a snub will irritate him enough."

Malavai doesn't often so dislike nobility, but this is a clear exception, "Kendoh _was_ rather rude to you, my lord. It's surprising he's managed to stay alive for so long, given that he's working with the Sith Order."

"He does have those bodyguards keeping him alive," she says thoughtfully, "And perhaps he might have some use for us. After all, he did provide us with a lead to this... Lady Renata. Poor woman. Kendoh must really want her under his thumb, if he’s going so out of his way to try and get me on his side."

“Are you going to consider his request?” He asks.

She gives him a look, “You know me better than that, Quinn. Beyond providing us with information on Jaesa Willsaam, I doubt she has anything of value to give to the Empire. There’s no good reason to ‘turn her in for questioning’ or some other such nonsense. And I refuse to help Kendoh abuse some unfortunate woman both on principle and out of sheer dislike for the man.”

If only he did know her. He’s been trying to figure out who she is since he stepped aboard her ship. Actually, he’s been trying to know her since Baras holocalled him back on Balmorra. That’s the whole problem - he _doesn’t_ know her, not for lack of trying. How is he to know whether or not she’d hand a noble woman over to Kendoh when he can’t even figure out if she’s loyal to the Empire at all?

But he just bows his head and agrees, “Of course, my lord.”

She frowns ever so slightly at him, like she _knows_ there’s something he’s not saying. It’s infuriating. How can she read him so easily while he hasn’t a clue who she is or what’s going on in her head. “Anyways,” she says after apparently deciding not to call him out, “We should be leaving as soon as we can to catch this Lady Renata. I’ll holo Vette and let her know that we have accommodations at House Thul. In the meantime, find out where exactly House Alde is and what we know about it’s defenses, please.”

“Yes, my lord.”

~*~

Vette lounges in the dinky cantina of House Thul, her feet up on her own private table and drink in her hand. After inspecting the, frankly gorgeous, luxury suite that the duke they’re working with provided them with, she’d dumped her stuff in the biggest room they got and decided to see what the nightlife of Alderaan has to offer. This cantina is smaller than some, but it’s got a decent selection and shady clientele. If the people here were the posh sort that seem to loiter around some of the nicer buildings in this city, she’d have avoided it like the plague. But this place, on the outskirts of the city that’s scattered around House Thul, isn’t so swanky as to be ruled out on principle.

Nope, she thinks as she takes a sip of a tart cocktail, it doesn’t get much better than this.

She’s been to Alderaan before, of course. Twice, even. Once had been a run with Nok Drayen, when she and Risha had been too young to participate in the actual fighting and had instead spent the time swindling people at House Organa to buy them candies. The second time it had been her and her Twi’lek gang, snagging a Ryloth statue from some fancy museum that hadn’t deserved to keep it. Two trips, two good memories. Hopefully her time here will be another good memory.

Once Gimrizh and racist-stuffy-captain get back from doing whatever it is they’re doing, Vette hopes she can convince them to let her come along on the next death-defying act in the show that has become her life. She’s got no quarrels with boozing it up and living the high life, but there are some problems that need to be shot at.

This is a problem that a bit of blaster work could improve. So Gimrizh is, despite being surprisingly a Zabrak, still just as racist as the rest of the damn Empire.

Really, she probably should have seen it coming. All the internalized racism, the pro-Imperial sentiment, it’s been obvious. Whatever creepy childhood institution Gimrizh was raised in must have completely brainwashed her. She’s drunk the koolaid, been indoctrinated. What a damn shame. Vette remembers when she herself was like that. It’s such a long time ago now that she can barely remember it, but it existed. She remembers when she was young, before she met Nok Drayen and before she started to do slave work with so many other Twi’leks. Then, a Twi’lek hadn’t been a culture or a people. It had just been the people who look like her and who make the best slaves. Not much for a kid to look up to.

Her holo starts beeping and she reluctantly turns it on.

Speak of the Corellian devil. Gimrizh’s small blue image fills the holo as she speaks, “Vette. We’ve concluded our business with the Lady Renata. We should be back sometime after sunset.”

“Sure thing, boss lady,” Vette says, tipping her glass to the Sith, “Got any plans for taking a tour of the Alderaanian nightlife?”

“Isn’t that your job?” Gimrizh comments dryly, “I work, you party?”

“Hey now, I work too.”

“Yes, about that. Our next task will be a direct assault on a House Organa General. I want you to accompany me as well, we’ll need every blaster we’ve got in this.”

“Yeah, I’d love to - but why in the force damned hells are we going after an Organa General?”

“Turns out that Jaesa Willsaam never worked for Lady Renata, instead she was a handmaiden to Gesselle Organa. Quinn is locating her position right now, but in the morning, we’ll be heading out to find her and convince her to give up information on Jaesa Willsaam. Can I count on your help tomorrow?”

“You’ve got it. See you when you get back, your Sithyness.”

Gimrizh almost smiles and then the holo goes out. Vette tosses the small metal disk on the table and takes another sip of her drink. Well. She did want to shoot things. She supposes that this will be a good way to get that accomplished, while also doing stuff for their ‘greater purpose’ or whatnot. She almost pities this Jaesa Willsaam. Poor Jedi, probably just wants to move on with her life and instead she’s being tracked down by a determined Sith. Darn shame.

“Excuse me?” Some man asks her.

Vette glances up at the guy who just approached her and then thoroughly looks him up and down. A middle aged human, not obviously mean looking, wearing a heavy cloak that just screams ‘suspicious’. “Hey,” she says, not quite as friendly as she could be, “What can I do for you? If you’re looking for a pretty face, I’m the wrong Twi’lek.”

“Oh, er no,” he replies, looking almost embarrassed but still calm, “I’m actually looking for the girl you spoke to on the holo.”

He’s after Gimrizh? Yeah right. “No, you’re not, buddy. _Trust_ me. Whoever you think you’re looking for, it ain’t her.”

“I’m pretty certain that’s the girl I know,” he tells her, a tiny downwards tug on his lips the only emotion that changes on his face.

“Uh, no,” Vette insists, “She doesn’t date people. And she sure as hell doesn’t go around meeting people. Killing people, sure, making friends, _nope_. Now, if you want my advice, go find some other Zabrak chick to fawn over because _this one_ will get you a swift but not-so painless death for your troubles, got it?”

He looks confused - and good that makes two of them. “I- What?”

“Shoo,” she says and makes a little ‘go away’ gesture with her free hand, “You don’t want to be interested in her.”

“No, that’s not-” he tries again and then asks, “Pardon me, but that girl _is_ Gimrizh, isn’t she?”

Vette slowly puts her drink down and checks the number of empty glasses in front of her. She’s only had two other drinks tonight, that is definitely not enough to get her this drunk. And for that matter, she’s been reliably informed that she’s more of a ‘loud giggly drunk’ than a ‘batshit crazy hallucinations drunk’. “How in the name of the force do you know Gimrizh?”

"I met her a few months ago,” he admits, “Is she on Alderaan? Can I meet her?”

Gimrizh? Making friends? What crazy alternate reality did she wake up in? “Uh what?”

“I'd like to talk to her,” he repeats and Vette gets a good long look at him this time. He’s somewhat familiar to her, but then again a lot of humans look alike. And there’s something off about him. He’s not a soldier or an officer, going by the lack of uniform and the fact that he doesn’t have a stick up his ass like the captain. She’s also not inclined to write him off as an Imperial either. He doesn’t seem to give a damn that he’s talking to a Twi’lek or that the person he’s looking for is a sub-species. And he’s not an Alderaanian, going by his light Coruscanti accent and lack of any visible wealth.

But there’s something strange about him. He doesn’t stand with the straight back of an officer but there’s an aura of confidence around him, just like she get from Gimrizh. She peers past his cloak and catches a glimpse of metal, just where Gimrizh carries her lightsaber. Another Sith? But his eyes are a light brown, not red or orange or yellow, like all Sith eyes are. Which means… Ah shit.

“If you think I’m going to tell a _Jedi_ ,” she says, hissing the last word under her breath, “where my friend is, you are sorely mistaken.”

He recoils from her like she’s just bit him and yet seems offended by her words, “Please, I’m not-”

“I’m an _not_ going to lead my friend into a Jedi trap,” she tells him sternly, “Now leave. Or else I’ll call the House Thul militia and let them know that there’s a Jedi infiltrating their city. Even if this is on the outskirts, I’m sure they’ll come running.”

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding-” he tries, “If you could just give her my holo frequency-”

“Get. _Out_ ,” Vette points at the door.

He places a scrap of flimsi with a holo frequency on the table and then walks out the door, sighing wistfully as he leaves.

Vette drains her glass. “What the _fuck_ was that.”

~*~

It’s late at night when Gimrizh and Quinn make it back to the House Thul suite. She supposes they’ll speak to Kendoh about their plan to track down Gisselle Organa in the morning. The General is fighting a war after all, there’s only so far she can go and wasting a few hours to get a good night’s sleep is hardly a pointless use of their time. She drops her heavy lightsaber belt on the fancy table and leans back in the plush couch. Stars, this place is luxurious. Quinn is sitting at the table, cleaning the components of his blaster with careful precision.

There’s an annoyed presence at the door, a familiar presence.

She sighs and runs her hands through her hair, grabbing Quinn’s attention. “Kendoh's here,” she explains, “Should I let him in?”

“It’s your call, my lord,” he replies, setting down a heavy metal slide next to the main blaster is belongs to.

She lazily waves her hand at the door and uses the force to push it open just as Kendoh is about to knock.

The duke glares at her before striding into the room with his Sith bodyguard trailing silently behind him. “So,” he says, clearly working himself up into a moment of foolish overconfidence, “You find it funny to ignore a duke? I have been _quite_ polite to you, despite our less than pleasant first meeting and your less than favorable species. If you make a dinner appointment, you should endeavour to keep it-”

“I was tracking down Lady Renata,” Gimrizh cuts in, staring coolly at the duke, “I did my _job._  As I’m supposed to. Regardless of what you may think, entertaining the trappings of Alderaanian frivolity _isn’t_ my biggest priority right now.”

He draws himself up and a glimmer enters his eye, “And the Lady Renata? Where is she now?”

“She wasn’t who I was looking for. Turns out Jaesa Willsaam was never Renata’s handmaiden,” she explains, “We’re looking for a Gisselle Organa. As to what happened to her, I concluded that Renata knew nothing more of interest and as she’s not really a threat to the Empire, I let her go.”

She can sense the waves of anger radiating off of him, “I must say,” he says at last, “I am most disappointed that you didn’t take her in so that I could question her myself. I thought we had an understanding on this matter. I was quite specific in my request and there was no reason for you to deny me.”

“Do your own dirty work,” she throws back at him.

“By denying my claim to Renata, you certainly aren’t providing me with much incentive to help you,” he tells her and it’s almost a threat. It’s actually sort of funny, “Where’s my _motivation_?”

She fixes him with a glare, “Become _self-_ motivated.”

“I prefer self-interested,” he retorts and then opens his mouth to say something else.

Gimrizh puts her feet up on the table right next to her lightsaber. Kendoh’s mouth shuts.

“Please return to what’s important,” she tells him, keeping her voice calm as Kendoh tries not to sweat, “Gisselle Organa is out next target. Quinn, did you find out where she is?”

“I did a sweep for information earlier, my lord,” Quinn says, laying the blaster down on the table and handing her a datapad, “The General is definitely on the front lines and I should have a more concrete location in a few hours. So far, it appears as though her headquarters are located in the Juran Mountain Range.”

She looks at the datapad, which seems to be a number of Imperial reports that mention the General and a location. There’s also a tracking program running in the background which she thinks she recognizes as the same one Quinn used to find the Jedi back on Balmorra. “Excellent work,” she comments.

There’s that flicker of a smile again, “Thank you, my lord.”

“Well,” Kendoh says with a huff, trying to defuse his anger, “Gisselle Organga poses quite the problem. She leads the Organa war against House Ulgo, but the reason she manages to maintain a more hands on approach and keep her and her advisors safe on the front lines is a tricky issue to solve. She keeps her headquarters protected by an impenetrable force field.”

That hardly seems like an _impenetrable_ sort of problem. “Force fields need energy to maintain, Kendoh,” she reminds him, “We can cut off her source before confronting her. Where could she get enough power to constantly run a force field like that?"

"I don't -" Kendoh pauses and thinks, "Well... She could be piggybacking off of the planetary generator. Some of my men do the same for their private security fields. If you knocked out the generator... The planet wouldn't miss a beat but I bet the auxiliary systems would go down."

So, the duke _is_ good for something besides giving her a migraine, "Quinn, your thoughts?"

"The plan is sound, my lord," Quinn tells her, clearly carefully turning the idea over in his mind, "Any secondary source tap like that would need to be manually reset. Temporarily shutting down a generator of that scale would reset it to whatever parameters it originally functioned at. Anything like the General's shield would have to be imputed from  scratch."

Kendoh nods, "You know your stuff alright. It won't be easy though, Gisselle Organa will still have her private security force with her after the shield's down, if not her entire army. Her headquarters won't be a cake run."

"I'll try not to be too bored," Gimrizh says sarcastically.

"In order to successfully bring down the generator, we will need something powerful, but targeted," Quinn says thoughtfully, "Perhaps a 7-S-7 detonator to lay the charge?"

"Kendoh," Gimrizh turns her head away from Quinn and back to the duke, "Do you have anything like that?"

"I suppose," he says hautely, "I'll have someone bring it by soon. I must say-"

The door slams open again.

An out of breath Vette skids to a stop right behind Kendoh and the looks between Gimrizh and the duke with confusion. There's an air of panic she can sense from Vette, and it can't mean anything good. Something's wrong.

"Vette," Gimrizh pulls her feet off the table and motions to the empty seat next to her, "Come on in. The duke was just leaving."

Vette falls into the couch with a relieved exhale, "Thanks. You would not _believe_ who I just ran into."

"Goodnight, Kendoh," Gimrizh says dismissively to the duke, "I'll pick up the explosives in the morning."

With a huff, he and his bodyguards leave the room. As soon as the door slides shut behind them, Gimrizh turns to Vette, "What happened?"

Vette looks serious, and seriously worried, "I was at some cantina in House Thul. Edge of the city, but still Empire territory, you know? Still our space. You called me up on the holo and after I was done talking to you, this guy comes up and asks me about you. Says he _knows_ you and tries to get me to let him meet you or tell him where you are. I’m confused as fuck, so I don’t tell him anything of course.”

“Did he provide a name?” Quinn asks, leaning forward in his seat ever so slightly.

She shakes her head, “Nah. I didn’t ask, dumb of me, I know. But the guy was carrying a lightsaber.”

Gimrizh pauses, “A Sith?”

“I… no. Sith have funny colored eyes, right?” Vette glances back at Gimrizh’s yellow eyes, as if to check.

“Yes,” Gimrizh says immediately, “The dark side causes physical changes, some more pronounced than others, but the eyes always change to red or yellow.”

“This guy was a Jedi,” Vette says quietly, “Acted just like one too. I don’t know who he was, but he was definitely after you. He seemed pretty damn determined to get in touch with you. He left his holo frequency,” she holds out a scrap of flimsy, “And he bugged me,” she reveals a tiny metallic tracker that she plucks from the hem of her shirt.

Gimrizh ignores the written number and shoves it in her pocket. She carefully examines the tracker before tossing it to Quinn, “What do you think?”

He turns it around, pinched between two of his gloved fingers. “It’s short range. If it could transmit any sort of frequency off-planet, it would need to be substantially larger than this.”

“It looks Republic,” Vette comments, “But I didn’t check.”

Quinn flips up a small panel and peers into the guts of the device, “Yes, it’s Republic. I don’t think it’s standard issue though.”

“ _Jedi_ ,” Gimrizh repeats to herself, “You were right, Vette.” What the hells does a Jedi want from her? It can’t be Mashallon, she’s in prison. And she doubts that Yonlach or his apprentice would come after her. Yonlach is too old, too much of a hermit, to just jump planet and go on some crazy revenge quest after her. Besides, they had parted on, if not good terms, then not extremely malevolent terms.

So that leaves…

She holds out her hand and Quinn places the tracker in her palm, “I have no idea who you ran into,” she lies, calmly pocketing the tracker, “Let me know if you see him again.”

“Are you going to act on this, my lord?” Quinn asks as the tracker vanishes from sight.

“No,” she says with a shake of her head, “We have a job to do here. Finding Jaesa Willsaam’s parents is more important than running around after a Jedi. If he’s really determined to find me, he’ll find me and I can kill him then. We have to do as Darth Baras instructed before we have the time to hunt some Jedi who’s name we don’t even know.”

He hesitates, clearly unsure about whether or not she’s right to just ignore the issue. “As you say, my lord,” he eventually agrees.

“I’ll deal with this _Jedi_ when he wants to confront me,” she decides, “If he doesn’t decide to come out before we’re finished here, then I’ll chuck this tracker out of _Horizon_ into vacuum.”

Vette laughs a tired, worn out laugh, “Sounds _fabulous_.”

“It’s late, and we have an early start tomorrow,” Gimrizh says, standing up from the table and making her way to one of the decadent bedrooms, “I’m going to get some sleep, I suggest that you two do the same.”

The tracker practically burns a hole in her pocket and she _knows_ exactly who gave it to Vette.

~*~

Gimrizh blows up a power generator. It is not the most insane thing that she does today.

Vette is the one who actually gets to lay the charge while Gimrizh and Quinn wipe out the droids that try to stop them from doing exactly what they’re doing. The droids mostly get a lightsaber to their sockets. That means that Vette is the one who gets to have fun wiring up a package of detonite into the mainframe. But once she’s done, Vette lets her do the actual blowing-up and she gets to press the button. It’s not a big red button, just a small switch on a remote detonator. Still a button though.

It doesn’t go up in a burst of power, in fact, the impressive effects don’t really last long. There’s maybe half a second right after they knock it out where the whole base goes dark and every single droid falls to the ground and it seems like they’ve just accidentally destroyed an entire planet. Then the generator kicks back in and everything goes back to normal.

“Damn,” Vette says, putting a hole through the head of the nearest droid, “That was fun. What’s next? Are we saying ‘hi’ to this General?”

Gimrizh tosses the detonator down the elevator shaft they just stepped out of. It kicks off the metal on the sides until falling out of sight and making a distant _clang_ as it hits the bottom, “Well we did just knock.”

Quinn glances behind them, likely considering the twisted hunk of a control center that the explosion left behind, “That was hardly a knock, my lord.”

“That’s how we roll, captain tightpants,” Vette says, walking out of the generator station with a swagger in her step.

He winces and rubs his thumbs into his temples in a futile attempt to stave off the irritating migraine that Vette’s comments give him. It could be worse, Gimrizh can still remember with painful clarity that first disastrous argument on Nar Shaddaa. They’re learning to live with each other without attempted murder. That’s more than she can say for pretty much everyone she’s ever lived with. Back in the good old days on Korriban.

“Vette, could you maybe… not?” Gimrizh proposes, trying to get a visual on where the General’s base is. It should be very close to the planetary generator that’s slugging back to peak efficiency behind them. But the snow, although stunningly beautiful and one of her favorite things in the galaxy, is a blinding white. She has to squint heavily to ignore the sunlight bouncing off the snow.

“Did you know that there’s a moon in the Kessel Sector that’s five times brighter than any nearby object?” she says absently, shielding her eyes with her hand, “It has volcanoes that shoot ice, and constantly refresh the layer of snow covering the moon. It reflects more light than the planet it orbits.”

“Enceladus,” Quinn supplies, handing her a pair of macrobinoculars, “It’s the third moon orbiting Rion.”

Gimrizh peers through the macrobinoculars and spends a second dialing down the brightness before she can actually get a good look at the mountainside below them, “Have you seen it?”

“Not up close, my lord. Only from the bridge of a star destroyer,” he tells her.

She gives up on trying to pick out the headquarters and gives the reader back to Quinn, “I’m terrible with this. Where are we going?”

“How does the giant fucking _castle_ behind us sound?” Vette asks, jabbing her thumb behind them, up the mountain to a distant palatial structure at the peak. Even so far away, they can tell it’s nowhere near as big as the sprawling city of House Thul, but it’s sharper looking somehow, more threatening, less a house and more a military outpost.

“That’s House Rist,” Quinn explains in an exasperated voice, “They’re well known on Alderaan for rigorous training regimes that result in a private force of assassination experts.”

Vette doesn’t look particularly fazed, “Yeah okay, so? Are they imps or pubs?”

“Neither,” he informs her, “They’re aligned with House Ulgo - which is fighting against both the Empire and the Republic for control of Alderaan. Regardless, Rist _is_ dangerous. They’re the ones who assassinated the last rulers of Alderaan and caused this civil war in the first place.”

“Sounds friendly,” Gimrizh comments, her tone oozing with sarcasm, “We’re headed _down_ this mountain, Vette, not up it. Gisselle Organa is encamped near the bottom and that’s where we’re going. If you want to pick a fight with a house full of assassins, we can come back later.”

“I’ll pass,” Vette says flippantly.

Gimrizh smirks, “Good choice.”

Quinn lowers the macrobinoculars and points to something down the mountain that she’ can’t quite see, even following his gaze, “There’s a military headquarters built into that gap, my lord. Approximately two kilometers down. It’s a Republic base, but no visible force field. Either that’s the wrong encampment, or sabotaging the planetary generator worked.”

“Let’s go with the second option,” Gimrizh says, starting to make her way down the mountain, “Much more optimistic.”

~*~

Gisselle Organa is panicking.

The force field just fizzled out, all of a sudden and they have no idea why. The backup generator in her base isn’t strong enough to handle powering something as heavy energy as her force field, but at least all their other systems are up and running. None of the technicians can get it back up either. It looks like something happened to the planetary generator to kick them off it’s power grid, but they don’t have the _time_ to manually trek back up the mountain and reset it. Not with House Rist close enough to knock on their front door.

“General!” One of the techies runs up to her with a heavy datapad of schematics in his arms, “We can’t replace our tap on the planetary generator without sending a team up the mountain to-”

Gisselle snatches the datapad out of his hands and skims it herself. Nothing of use, “We can’t send a team up there, not that close to House Rist. Get a slicer from the main house on the Apalis Coast if you have to!  And do it _now_ , we can’t waste any time!”

She shoves the datapad back into the tech’s hands and continues on her way to the command room.

They cannot afford to be ambushed while the shield is down. Rist is within spitting distance, and who knows what happened to bring down the force field. It could be that Rist is just as thrown off balance as they are, or it could have been a targeted attack designed to take them down. She doesn’t know how someone could have kicked them off the planetary generator’s grid without bringing the whole system down with it. She’s fighting a war here. She doesn’t like not knowing things.

“Someone give me a situation report!” she barks out as soon as her feet hit the floor of the command room.

“We’re working on resetting the system remotely,” Prinn, the head technician, informs her as he hurriedly messes with the terminal, “It’s taking a while, but I think if we can patch back into the central grid, we can replace the tap without having to input it manually from the power generator control station.”

Finally, some good news, “Double time, Prinn. We can’t let House Rist get any ideas.”

An alarm starts to blare throughout the base.

It’s the proximity alert. Blast, they’re being attacked! How did House Rist get a team down here already? Were they really the ones who staged this whole thing, or are they going to have to fight Ulgo men as well?

Blenks puts a comforting hand on her shoulder and she smiles up at him, “We can do this, Gisselle,” he says reassuringly, “What do you need to do?”

“General, our standing army outside is being wiped out!” Kan’grell, chief of security, alerts her. He tries to pull up the security holo footage, “Someone or something is on it’s way here!”

She snaps back to Prinn, “How’s my field looking?”

“My technicians almost have the force field reset, but we’re still a sitting duck!” he slams his fist against the terminal controls, “I can’t do anything else, General, I’m sorry!”

“It’ll be fine, Prinn, just keep working,” she tries to be reassuring, but it’s very difficult as she’s just as worried as he is, “Do we have visual? Is it Rist, Ulgo, what?”

Kan’grell checks a report on the holonet, “I’m getting reports of a number of House Thul officials experiencing a similar failure in their personal security systems. It’s not the Empire, that’s for damn sure. In my opinion, it’s House Ulgo that’s behind this. Rist couldn’t do something on such a widespread scale like this, they just don’t have the manpower.”

Blenks leans over the security footage and his face pales, “Gisselle,” he says slowly, “They’re breached the outer defenses. They’re inside the building.”

“What?!” She leans over the holo, her head an inch away from his, “They got past our army?”

“It was only a skeleton force here, you know that,” he reminds her, “We were counting on our force field to protect us, not our men.”

She tries to get a good look at whoever’s coming through the holo footage, but half the outside cameras have been blown out and are dark. It looks like the intruders are headed for the main elevator. She can see a vague blur of fighting before the camera she’s looking at gets shot out with a blaster bolt.

“Rewind that footage,” she orders, “And freeze it right before the camera feed is cut.”

Blenks obligingly does as she asks and pulls up a frozen image of whoever’s attacking. There’s a Twi’lek girl in the front, blasters pointed straight at the camera. At least that answers the question of what happened to their cameras. Behind the Twi’lek is a Zabrak woman with her entire arm plunged through the top of a droid, like she just tried to punch it to death or something. And there’s a human man shooting down one of her soldiers, dressed unmistakably in an Imperial uniform.

“Kan’grell,” she turns to her security chief, “You were wrong, it’s not Ulgo or Rist. Whoever it is, they’ve got an imp with them.”

He groans and looks at the image as well, “You’re shitting me. _Three_ fucking people can just waltz in here without being stopped?”

Giselle takes a second look at the tape, “Rewind it a bit more, slowly!”

The image slowly reverses, and she watches as the crazy looking Zabrak woman pulls her hand out of the droid’s wreckage. Just before the figure moves off the edge of the recording, Gisselle catches a glimpse of the woman holding something sword-like and glowing.

She swears, “Krething hells. It’s a Sith.”

“To arms!” Blenks yells, and thank the stars that he’s just as grounded in the moment as she is.

The guards in the room reach for their weapons. They never make it.

With the force of a battering ram, the blast door explodes inwards. The metal just crumples out of the way and a huge gust of pressurized air comes with it. The small, crazy, Zabrak Sith from the holo feed steps calmly through the whole she just created with a peaceful air, as though she’s done nothing wrong.

Blenks steps in front of Gisselle straight away, “Get behind me,” he mutters to her.

The few members of the guard who rush to attack the incoming party are swiftly dealt with. The imp shoots one in the head with a stunner and the Twi’lek girl uses the butt of her blaster to pistol-whip another. The Sith raises a hand and every Republic weapon in the room suddenly flies out of their hands.

“Gisselle Organa?” The Sith asks, scanning the room before her unnerving yellow eyes land firmly on the General herself.

Gisselle pushes in front of Blenks, “None of you panic!” she orders her men. They're good soldiers, good people. They don’t need to die for this. If the Sith’s after her then she’ll do what she can to shield her men from this, “I am Gisselle Organa, who are you, Sith?”

The Sith keeps her gaze straight on Gisselle, “I’m Gimrizh. I’m here looking for information on Jaesa Willsaam.”  
What.

Jaesa Willsaam? Her old handmaiden? What would a Sith possibly want from the young, cheerful, and inherently harmless handmaiden? Of course, she knows that Jaesa vanished off world a few years back, but the girl’s parents had assured her that nothing bad had happened to the girl. There wasn’t any trouble she could have got herself into, certainly nothing she could do that would result in a Sith coming after her.

“Did I hear you right?” Gisselle asks, the name echoing in her ears, “You’ve perpetrated all this in search of my former handmaiden?”

“That’s correct,” The Sith - Gimrizh - confirms, not giving up any extra information.

Even if she asked why, she supposes the Sith wouldn’t tell her anything. And there’s no chance she could fight her way out of this. They’re unarmed, and if by some miracle they could overpower a Sith, then there’s still the two others, the Twi’lek girl and the Imperial officer, to get past. Her men would be killed the second they tried that. The real question is how can she turn this situation to her advantage?

“You’re quite determined,” Gisselle starts, thinking as she speaks, “Like me, you’ll stop at nothing to achieve your goals.”

The Sith smirks faintly, “Flattery. That’s new.”

“It’s not flattery when I’m stating facts. You’ve decimated my forces outside,” She pauses to calm herself down, and then she has an idea for how this defeat can be turned in her favor, “They were to be deployed to secure a part of my front that’s about to fall. Without help, House Ulgo will destroy my troops and secure another victory for my cause. Ulgo is an enemy of the Empire as well - it’s not a conflict of interest.”

“You want to make a deal,” The Sith crosses her arms, “I’m listening.”

“You seek information only I have,” Gisselle states, hoping beyond hope that this works, “And my front needs bolstering. If you try and torture the information out of me, I’ll never talk, but perhaps we can help each other instead.”

Gimrizh seems to actually be thinking it over, a minor miracle of its own.

The Imperial officer by her side looks appalled, “My lord,” he quietly protests, “You can’t seriously be considering _aiding_ the _Republic_?”

“She does have a point,” The Sith partially turns her head, still keeping an eye on the room while talking to her officer, “We want Ulgo eradicated just as much as the Republic does. This only furthers our interests. And besides, she’s likely been trained to resist interrogation. How long would breaking her take? In that time, Jaesa slips farther and farther away from us. I know you’re against this, and I’m sorry, but there isn’t a whole lot of choice here. It could be far worse than just killing a few Ulgo soldiers alongside the Republic.”

He sighs and stands down, resentfully, but still standing down, “You’re my commander, I’ll follow your lead, my lord.”

“Sweet!” The Twi’lek cheers, “No torturing people!”

The Sith just rolls her eyes at that before going back to staring down Gisselle, “Alright. I’ll defend your front in exchange for everything you know about Jaesa Willsaam. If you attempt to double cross me, I’ll hunt you down and kill every last person you care about. Do we have a deal?”

“Deal,” Gisselle readily agrees, “Now, on my left flank, there’s a tunnel between my forces and House Ulgo’s that has been hard pressed by the enemy. I have only a rag-tag troop defending this tunnel and Ulgo is about to attack. You _must_ repel the enemy forces or else House Ulgo will gain access to my force field generator. What’s left of my forces at the tunnel choke point are being led by Lieutenant Dargus. I’ll let Dargus know you’re coming and he’ll contact me as soon as you’ve succeeded. Assuming you do.”

“I don’t fail,” Gimrizh says calmly, “I’m sure you can attest to that yourself.”

That jab hits home in Gisselle’s gut and she almost flinches as she thinks of the soldiers that this Sith just killed to get in here to her, “Just get the job done, please,” she continues, “I’ll tell you whatever you need once my men are safe.”

“Vette,” The Sith says, turning to the Twi’lek girl, “Stay here and keep an eye on things. Make sure the General stays put.”

The Twi’lek pouts, “Sure, I’ll do the boring work, as per freaking usual.”

“Don’t take it personally,” the Sith tells her with a light grin, “I need to leave someone here and you’re amiable enough for the job. You can’t see Quinn babysitting a bunch of pubs, can you?”

“I’d _pay_ to see that,” The Twi’lek snorts.

“I _wouldn’t_ ,” the officer says haughtily.

And this is so damn surreal. Gisselle has just talked to a Sith, a krething _Sith_ , and has gotten out of it alive. Not only alive, but with a deal that goes in her favor. And now this Twi’lek is actually cracking _jokes?_ Who in the hells are these people?

“Don’t go anywhere,” The Sith tosses over her shoulder as she walks out, the officer following in her footsteps like a shadow.

The Twi’lek stays, holsters her blasters, sits down on a nearby crate and asks, “So, can any of you guys play sabacc?”

~*~

“For the record, my lord,” Quinn says at the tunnel entrance, “I do not fully support this course of action.”

Gimrizh’s boot crush the snow beneath her feet - what a waste, actually. Snow is the most beautiful thing in the galaxy, and here she is stepping on it because it’s in her way. The large tunnel opens up in front of her, but there’s a light coming from the end of it, so it can’t be too long in length. She can sense a few soldiers inside, Ulgo men probably, and then a small group of pinpricks in the force that radiate a current of fear deeper in. Those must be the Organa troops that they’re here to aid.

To be honest, she isn’t even sure that she disagrees with Quinn. She doesn’t fully support her own choice, but there’s not many options. Sure, she could have had Gisselle Organa tortured for the information, but in that time, Jaesa Willsaam’s parents could leave Alderaan and she’d have to start the chase anew. She’s well aware that this entire venture is a race against the clock. Not only here on Alderaan, but also on the wider scale. This is a fight against Jaesa Willsaam but also against Nomen Karr. The Jedi Master will use every second of time she gives him to his utmost in his efforts to defeat her and Baras.

“I know,” she says, “But we don’t have _time_ for anything else. We have to take what we can get.”

He sighs, “I don’t disagree with you on any particular point, my lord. And I understand the necessity of your decision. I’m just concerned that your actions as of late could be seen as anti-Imperial.”

Gimrizh almost chokes. Not because he’s wrong, oh no, but because she’s been having the exact same thoughts herself. That stupid vision on Tatooine hadn’t just been an emotional hell, but it had shaken her core beliefs. She doesn’t know who she is and it scares her. “I know,” she repeats, “I… I want you to know, that everything I do, I do for Baras. For the Sith Order. For the glory of the Empire.”

“I apologize,” Quinn seems so surprised in his reserved way, which means she must really look off, “I’m not trying to question you, my lord. As I said, I’ll follow your lead.”

She nods her head and takes a deep breath to center herself, “Thank you, Quinn. I admire your honesty.”

That seems to be the wrong thing to say, and the silence that falls over the two of them is more awkward than she expected. So she unclips her lightsaber from her belt and holds it, unlit, but ready, as she steps into the cave. They have a job to do.

A few Ulgo soldiers spot them as soon as they round the first bend and shout out to the others in the tunnel.

Gimrizh stabs the nearest man through the throat and then guts the second as Quinn shoots down the third. Three down. Who knows how many else to go.

The sounds of conflict have attracted attention. Another group of soldiers further up the tunnel come running, only to be disappointed. They die as swiftly as their companions did and it does nothing to stop Gimrizh and Quinn from advancing further down the tunnel. She even goes out of her way to cut the supporting beams of a gun turret as she passes by.

One final curve in the tunnel later and they can see through the thing to the outside.

There’s just one last squad of Ulgo troops in front of them, too distracted with blocking the tunnel to notice the two of them coming up from behind.

Quinn hits one in the head before they’ve noticed a thing and then Gimrizh slices the next soldier in half. The last one tries to run before getting a blaster bolt to his heart.

She takes her first step outside the tunnel into the clearing behind it. It’s… distressing, to say the least. Seeing land on a planet of such great beauty like Alderaan be reduced to a warzone like what she has seen on Balmorra. There are deep trenches that scar the ground, blockades and sandbags hastily thrown over the ridges of the trenches for cover. A few fires burn in the pits, reeking of oil and burnt flesh. At the base of the mountain is a shutdown satellite dish, maybe the source of the force field. Near the force field station are a few shoddy tents, some with injured men inside. There’s maybe only a dozen Republic troops left alive.

“So…” she starts, deactivating her lightsaber.

Quinn bristles as the implications of her disarming, “I am _not_ going to surrender to a bunch of Republic scum, my lord.”

Gimrizh shrugs, “Fair point.”

She strides up to the main command tent and the guard outside it too shocked to shoot at her. She stares him straight in the eyes as she steps inside the tent.

“Who’s in charge here?” she demands.

A group of soldiers snaps to attention and one wearing a Lieutenant’s mark plate steps forward, “I’m Lieutenant Dargus, I- I thought I must have misheard the General. She said a Sith would be coming to our aid but I - I didn’t believe her.”

Gimrizh looks him up and down. She’s _not_ impressed, “And do you believe her now?”

“Sir!” one of the men protests, “I’m not trusting a Sith! No way in hells!”

“We’re drastically outnumbered, Sergeant,” Dargus reminds his soldiers, “The General’s given us an order, and besides, without help… we’re dead for sure.”

The Sergeant bears his teeth at Dargus, “I’m not sticking around for a suicide run, and the rest of the men aren’t either!”

“You’d only get in the way,” Gimrizh drawls.

“Sarge,” another of the soldiers whispers, “I don’t know, maybe with the Sith on our side we could turn the tide against Ulgo. And besides, General Organa hasn’t led us wrong yet.”

Another one chimes in, “Yeah, and I don’t fancy being a deserter.”

Dargus lets out a relieved breath, “Glad to hear it men, Sergeant, you are relieved. And I will report this to the General personally. I understand your desire to run, but desertion can’t be tolerated. Get out of here, and let the real men fight the good fight.”

“Now you’re sounding like a leader, _Lieutenant_ ,” Gimrizh comments, crossing her arms as the Sergeant turns tail and leaves the tent.

A man monitoring a terminal suddenly jumps, “Lieutenant! The Ulgo forces are coming now! What do we do?!”

Gimrizh scowls at the troop of soldiers - _Republic_ soldiers, “Stand your ground and fight like men.”

Dargus grabs his weapon, “Take your positions men! This is it!”

The men scramble for blasters and weapon packs, sliding into the trenches like it’s a habit for them instead of a defensive tactic. Lieutenant Dargus is the last one to take up position, helping a man with a leg injury up into the cockpit of a cannon turret. Gimrizh flips her lightsaber hilt over in her hand and steps out of the tent.

Quinn still looks bitter about the whole affair, not that she can blame him, “My lord,” he says stiffly, “I would not appreciate dying alongside a bunch of Republic  _bastards_ -”

Gimrizh laughs, surprising both Quinn and herself, “That’s the first time I’ve hear you swear,” and apparently today is just a surprising day in general for her, because she follows up that laugh with a genuine smile, “You should swear more. Somehow, it suits you.”

“You’re the first person who’s ever said _that_ , my lord,” he replies, giving her a look that she can’t figure out for the life of her.

“Let’s get ready,” she just says, the smile slowly fading from her lips as she starts to sense hostile intent approaching from the tunnel. She’s not very good at sensing people in the force, certainly not as good as some Sith are, but when she concentrates she’s decent enough. Like right now she can sense the Ulgo troops making their way through the tunnel, but she’s focusing intently on their presence in the force to do it.

She ends up standing near Dargus’ position at the front and Quinn gets behind her to provide cover. The ground starts to shake with the force of the oncoming forces - droids probably.

“I can feel the tunnel walls shaking…” Dargus mutters to himself, clutching his blaster rifle close to his chest with fear, “Ulgo’s coming fast.”

“That’s your knees knocking together, _coward_ ,” Gimrizh snaps at him, igniting her lightsaber.

The first Ulgo squad passes through the mouth of tunnel.

As soon as the troops are in clear sight, the Republic soldiers start firing, raining blaster bolts down on the enemies. The first line of soldiers fall without much of a fight, but it becomes clear that they are very heavily outnumbered. As the Ulgo soldiers keep coming, the Republic men fall back and Gimrizh takes that as her cue to move in.

She takes a few steps back to gain momentum before bursting into a dead sprint. Using a blockade as a springboard, she kicks off and leaps over the Republic soldiers, avoiding their blaster fire. She sticks a landing right in the midst of the Ulgo troop.

It's like scattering nervous animals, they all start panicking and shooting at her. Deflecting their bolts is easy, sending them back where they came from is even easier, and she downs two of them with their own shots before she can so much as blink.

There's almost a rhythm to it. Gut one with a flash of her lightsaber. Dodge a bolt. Decapitate the one that tries to rush her. Flick a blast back into the head of whoever shot at her. They're not very highly trained, not skilled at fighting force users, and it's so easy to just cut them down like they're made of flimsiplast. She drowns herself in the force and knows what the closest soldier is going to do before he does. She lunges forward to stab him through the chest before he can try anything and then pulls back to maintain her guard.

Soon she's standing amidst a field of corpses, and the troops coming from the tunnel slow to a trickle.

She flips her blade around to stab one who sneaks up behind her. Her lightsaber leaves his dead body with a hiss of energy, perfectly timed for her to sink the beam into the body of a fallen soldier who had taken a bolt to the leg earlier.

No more men pour forth from the tunnel, but she can still feel the tremor in the earth and the force tells her that it's not over yet.

She pulls back. A quick headcount of the remaining Republic soldiers shows that they lost two men, but it's nothing unexpected. Once the Ulgo troops had focused on her, they had pulled away from the pubs.

Quinn reloads his blaster and she catches a flash of metal as he pulls a vibroknife out of someone's neck.

"Alright?" She asks lightly as she falls in to stand near him.

He glances back at the tunnel, "Thank you for your concern, my lord, but the enemy will be regrouping. We should get ready."

"Let them come," she says, tightening her grip on her lightsaber, "They'll find I'm more than their match."

From behind the barrier, Dargus blanches and slides his rifle back over the top of the blockade, "They're coming!"

His yell snaps the soldiers back into action, and they stop fixing barriers and mending wounds to pick up their weapons once again and prepare for whatever's coming next. Gimrizh exchanges a brief look with Quinn before she makes her way back to the front line.

A glint of light shines in the tunnel. A heavy metal leg of of spider droid pokes out, followed by the fat body and gun turret, flanked by another squad of troops.

It sends a heavy shot into the ground, smattering the earth like dust and sending a pub flying. The echo of the boom rings in Gimrizh's ears as she skids backwards from the force of the blow.

She grits her teeth and runs for the droid. Two of the soldiers fall to her lightsaber with swift, decisive strokes. Another pair are shot down before she can reach them, and she is so grateful that Quinn has her back.

She weaves between the legs of the droid, cutting at its supports as she goes. Underneath its belly, none of the soldiers' blasts can hit her, and they get picked off while she downs the droid. At last, there's a heavy groan of metal and she leaps backwards as the droid's body comes crashing down. She jumps on top of it behind its gun turret and stabs her lightsaber as far into it as she can.

It gives a final shower of sparks before its lights flicker out and it dies.

She pulls her hand out, feeling distinctly satisfied. She slides off the top of the droid and then the force screams at her.

"My lord!" Quinn yells in warning, running up to try and cover her, "Watch-"

Something explodes an inch away from her head.

She blacks out for a second and can't feel anything but pain as she is flung against a barricade like a rag doll tossed aside. Must have been a rocket, she thinks, her thoughts oddly incoherent.

Her vision blurs and she through a haze she can see a heavy Blitzkrieg 9-0 droid clank into the clearing, it's gun turret smoking from whatever it shot at her. Her leg burns and she digs a hunk of shrapnel out of her calf. Hot wet blood stains her pants and runs down into her boots, thickening with the dust and dirt already there.

"I've got you," Quinn says, sounding far calmer than he actually is. He skids over to her side and stabs a syringe of kolto into her leg. A thick bandage gets wrapped around the injury.

Gimrizh's eyes widen as the droid charges up it's blaster cannons with a high pitched whine. Shit - _shit_ this is not how she's going to die. "Quinn...!" She tries to speak, fumbling around for her lightsaber. "Get out - run!" 

"With all due respect, my lord, I am not leaving you." His hands are unsteady as he picks up his fallen blaster. He's just as terrified as she is and in that moment she feels herself begin to understand him more than she had before. That loyalty, when mixed with his cleverness and how she can _see_ what lies behind his deference... of  _course_ she let him onto her crew without much of a second thought. 

Tugging on the force with reckless abandon, Gimrizh pulls her lightsaber into her hand and pushes herself up. She won't die here. She won't let  _Quinn_ die here. Not when she's barely started to get to know him. 

Screw this pain, screw this injury bullshit. She sways on her feet but manages to ignite her blade as the massive droid turns its guns back towards the two of them.

From out of nowhere, a second figure clears the tunnel and leaps on top of the droid.

There's a flash of green - bright and blinding. It melts a path through the droid's body as though it offered no more resistance than butter to hot metal. A lightsaber. Sith, or - ?

What's left of the droid crashes to the ground, skittering up a dust cloud as it hits the dirt. The figure nimbly leaps off the top of the wreckage and the bright green lightsaber deactivates.

_Jedi._

Gimrizh slowly steps forward, her leg steadier as the kolto pumps through her system. She points the hilt of her lightsaber at the Jedi, "Who are you? Why are you here?" She demands.

"Is this the Jedi tracking you?" Quinn quietly asks her.

She shakes her head. She doesn't know this Jedi and she's pretty sure that she knows who's tracking her, "Vette said that Jedi was a human."

This man, standing before them with calm serenity, is a Mirialan. Tall and lean, dressed in lightly armoured Jedi robes, with long dark hair tied back away from his face and forest green skin. She finds herself staring at him more intently than she would for just any old Jedi. He's familiar. Something in his face tugs at her memory. Dark tattoos mark his skin around his eyes and cheeks, like her own, different of course, but close enough to - Gimrizh struggles to draw breath. _She knows that pattern_.

The Jedi looks almost embarrassed, "Forgive me," he says, giving a respectful bow as he clips his lightsaber back onto his belt. "I am Thutrel, Jedi Knight. I heard that there was a situation here, and as I was nearby, I arrived to lend my services."

Dargus approaches, obviously relieved that a Jedi has showed up, "I err... Didn't send for a Jedi?"

"Ah," the Jedi glances behind him at an astromech that's making its way out of the tunnel, "Tee-seven picked up your signal to a Gisselle Organa. He was insistent that I aided you in your fight."

The droid gives a series of contented beeps that makes the Jedi smile. And _stars,_ even his smile is so familiar, and it burns straight through Gimrizh. How can he be so calm, so serene when her hearts are pounding in her chest like the engines of a warship. 

"It wasn't necessary," Quinn says icily, hand still on his blaster as he glares at the Jedi.

Thutrel looks between her and Quinn with confusion. He tries to keep his palms open an visible, a gesture of peace that falls flat. "May I ask why a Sith and an Imperial officer are saving Republic soldiers?"

"None of your business," Gimrizh snaps at him, "Do what you want here. I have work to do," she snarls at Dargus, "Get me the General on line. Now."

"S-sure." Dargus readily agrees, fiddling around for his holo.

Apparently realizing that he is unwanted here, the Jedi bows his head and lets them be,heading over to the nearest trench, speaking to the men there in a calm reassuring voice while the astromech waves medical supplies around. How stupid - how  _pointless_ \- damn the Jedi to every Corellian hell there is. If they just embraced the dark side, things would be easier. 

The call connects and the General appears in the blue light.

"What's the word, Dargus?" The General asks, "I'll assume that since you're calling me, the day is won?"

"Yes, General," Dargus explains, "The Sith turned the tide of the battle - it was incredible, although I hate to say it. There's also a Jedi at the camp now, offering assistance, so our continued security will be assured after you offer the Sith whatever reward she was promised."

The General frowns and then turns to address Gimrizh, "Sith. As painful as this experience has been, you did come through. But you're still an enemy - I hope you're not expecting a thank you."

"You're welcome," Gimrizh bites out.

She sighs heavily before continuing, "Parving and Gregor Willsaam can be found in House Organa, in the tower on the edge of the Glarus Valley. Sith, the Willsaams are simple, hardworking, _innocent_ people. Regardless of what side they happened to be born on, they aren't fighters and they aren't politicians. They deserve your mercy. Surely the Sith Order has exceptions for non-combatants."

"I'll take it under consideration," Gimrizh replies flatly, "Put Vette on."

There's a brief burst of static and then Vette appears on the holo. "Hey, your Sithyness," she says cheerily, "How'd it go?"

"As expected." Gimrizh doesn't mention the Jedi. She doesn't even want to think his _name_ , let alone have to talk about the man. "We're going to find Jaesa Willsaam's parents. Head back to House Thul and wait for us there."

"Roger roger," Vette quips before the holo goes blank.

Dargus pockets the holo and thanks her again, "We couldn't have done this without you."

"Don't mention it," Gimrizh says dismissively, as the Lieutenant heads off to speak with his surviving men. "Quinn, let's head out."

He gives her a surprisingly stern look and crosses his arms, "You're not going anywhere on that leg, my lord. I'm sure the Willsaams aren't going to leave the planet in the next five minutes."

Her leg _does_ still hurt. "Oh fine," she huffs, sitting down on a nearby crate. "Just get me some kolto and we'll head out. Don't I outrank you?" she asks, trying to joke and hoping that it doesn't fall flat.

He gives her another kolto injection, "Technically, my lord, as the only medical officer stationed on _Horizon_ , I outrank everyone in matters concerning the crew's health."

"Of course, 'always do as the medic says'," she says pleasantly, trying to return to light feeling she had earlier. Before that damn Jedi arrived.

"That _is_ the rule," Quinn says as he packs the gouge in her leg with kolto, "Obviously you can't keep off your feet for some time yet, but until it heals, please try not to do anything too strenuous."

She wiggles her toes in her boot while the numb feeling sets in, "I'll try my best."

There’s a beeping at her side. It’s the astromech that came in with the Jedi, Tee-seven, or at least that's what she _thinks_ it's name is. It bumps into the crate she’s sitting on and gives her another series of short beeps.

“Go away,” she tells it, “Shoo.”

It beeps indignantly at her. Is it _offended_?

“Do you want me to shoot it, my lord?” Quinn asks, clearly hoping she’ll say yes.

She glares at the droid. It beeps again, “Scram, you cheapjack.”

“Tee-seven!” Thutrel calls out, walking over to the commotion his droid is causing. Oh _no_. She doesn’t want to even look at that man’s face, let alone have to talk to him again. “I’m sorry if he’s bothering you, he means well but can be a bit…ah… nosy. The two of you are of great interest to him.”

Gimrizh glares at him, “Do I look like I care?”

“My apologies,” Thutrel says without missing a beat. He’s so _sincere_ , it’s nauseating. Her encounters with Mashallon and Yonlach hadn't infuriated her half as much as only a few minutes of dealing with him. “I was talking to the men just now and Tee-seven was listening in. They say that you saved them all. I know that you probably had a self-interested reason in doing this, but I’d like to offer my thanks, regardless of your intentions.”

She can’t look at him anymore. Her glare wilts and she glances down at her bandaged calf. “I didn’t do it for some Jedi.”

“My lord,” Quinn says quietly so that the Jedi cannot overhear, “Do you want me to make him leave?”

She shakes her head, “It’s fine. You have my enthusiastic permission to shoot him if he tries anything though.”

“Don’t worry,” Thutrel comments, “I’m not going to fight you. I’m quite grateful to you. Not many a Sith would do the right thing as you did.”

Quinn bristles at the suggestion, “The Empire usually does the right thing,” he says venomously. "Perhaps the fault here lies in how quick you were to judge Lord Gimrizh,  _not_ in the Sith Order."

Thutrel gives a diplomatic shrug, “I admit, our experiences likely differ. I would never have expected a Sith to be so reasonable or kind.” He nods to Gimrizh, “You would make a good Jedi, although I know it’s unlikely.”

“Do you always attempt to convert your enemies?” she asks, pointedly not facing him.

“I believe in second chances,” Thutrel tells her with sincerity, “No matter who my opponent is. Anyone can change to do the right thing.”

Her hands clench and she resists the urge to go for her lightsaber. A fight here would serve no purpose, and she's still injured. It's still tempting. “I serve the dark side of the force. If you knew anything about that, you’d know that I not only have no desire to be a Jedi, but that it’s not even possible. It's not like putting on a fucking hat. You don't get to just pick a different side in the mornings. If you're this cavalier about the force, I'd say you don't know anything about the light side either. You know nothing of the dark side, and you know nothing of the power it brings."

“I understand how you feel,” he says sagely - won't even show a krething emotion. Asshole.

“You Jedi,” she spits out, “You’re all a bunch of filthy hypocrites. What do you know of the dark side of the force? All you self-righteous liars do is pretend you have no emotions and strive for _peace_ , and then you go off and kill others. You lock your true selves up and claim it’s enlightenment - You’ve probably never felt a force-damned thing in your entire life!”

He sighs and peacefully lets the silence drag out, “Actually, I know more than you may think. Many years ago I almost fell to the dark side - I've touched it's temptations more than most Jedi. It's seductive, it draws you in, it can feel warm and welcoming and...”

Gimrizh gapes. Not only did he admit to failure, that  _is_ what the dark side can feel like. It's many things but it's often warm water, an embrace into the swell of the dark side. That’s unexpected. Most Jedi have no idea. And now she’s looking at him _again_ , damn it all. She doesn’t want to see his face or think about why he looks so familiar that it hurts. “Oh? Did you throw a tantrum? Do the Jedi consider teenage angst _falling_?”

“Something of that ilk,” he says honestly, “I looked for vengeance, when I should have been seeking peace. Whatever anger you hold that makes you choose the dark side, it can be overcome. Anger is a toxin that poisons the blood.”

"We have better things to do than listen to some sob story," Quinn replies with a sneer. 

Gimrizh almost agrees with him, but she’s so curious even though she knows she shouldn’t be, “No no, let the poor Jedi continue with what I'm sure will be a _tragic_ tale of woe. Let me guess- he got _hurt_ and was upset about it? I've always wondered what exactly makes Jedi crack.”

“Part of my family was killed by Sith - my aunt and uncle - we never even found my baby cousin’s body,” he says at last, and there’s real _pain_ in his voice. An emotion, from a Jedi? Today truly is a day for the history holos. “I became a Jedi to try and hunt the people that did it down, choosing a path to revenge. I know that's not an unusual story, although it's true. But that anger, that pain, was ripping me apart inside, and I eventually learned that holding in those feelings could never help me. Whatever pain _you_ hold, it’s nothing compared to the peace that the light side can bring. I know this personally. If you care to tell me what drove you to the dark side, perhaps I can help you as my Jedi Master helped me?”

Oh stars.

She’s heard his name before.

“Whatever reason the Sith had for going after part of your family,” Quinn says stiffly, “It was likely more legitimate than whatever foolish ideals sent you to the Jedi Order.”

Thutrel almost looks offended by that, but his calm appearance doesn’t falter. “They went after my cousin because she’s force sensitive. Both the Jedi and the Sith, despite their differences in how they channel the force, are the same in that they seek out young children to join their ranks. At least the Jedi ask before they take children. There are few who regret making the decision to return to the light.”

It’s him. No, _please_ no, it can’t be. She  _knows his name._

“You look just like her,” she chokes out before she can stop the words from making their inevitable march across her lips.

Thutrel’s attention snaps back to her. There’s honest to stars _hope_ in his eyes and it makes her physically ill, “You know my cousin? You know Yaina?”

She can’t breathe.

Oh fuck, she can't - She tries to suck in air but her throat closes off like someone’s wrapping a hand around her windpipe and her lungs heave despite being empty. Her stomach ties itself into a knot and her hearts skip every other beat. It feels like someone’s stabbing her, a cold and hot knife that’s tearing through her and pinning her in place.

She can’t move, she can’t think, she as immobile as if frozen in a block of ice. Her throat burns with pain but she still _can’t breathe_ oh stars, what’s happening to her?

“ _\- my big cousin Thutrel -_ “

The oh so painful, oh so familiar voice echoes in her ears even though she _knows_ no one’s there, she can feel hot desert sand scorch her skin even though she’s surrounded by snow.

 _“ - hated the Empire, Gim. Hated it. Had cousins who were pubs. None of ‘em like the Empire -_ “

She’s screaming. She’s screaming even though no sound can force it’s way out of her raw throat. Her eyes burn because she can’t even blink.

“ _Oh Gim…_ ”

Stars no, please _please no_ - She chokes on the pain as a bright red light flashes in her mind’s eye. She can’t breathe, she can’t move, she’s going to die-

“My lord?” Quinn places a hand on her shoulder, concern flashing through his eyes, “Are you alright?”

Like being pulled up through miles of water to cough on air, she resurfaces. “I- I- no, I’m -” she can’t even _talk_ , stars, she’s _pathetic_. His hand is a warm reassurance, even through the fabric of his gloves and she slowly sucks in a deep breath. He got her out. She's here, she's alive,  _he's_ alive, but Yaina's - No, no,  _no_ she can't follow that thought again.

Quinn glares at Thutrel, “Perhaps you should leave.”

“Wait, please,” Thutrel begs, desperately stepping over his astromech to get closer to Gimrizh, “Do you know Yaina? Where is she? Are you still in contact with her? Can you tell her that I’m looking for her? Does she know I’m alive?”

Not even really sure what she’s doing, Gimrizh falls to her feet and decks him in the face.

Thutrel is too shocked by her sudden movement to do anything but let her punch hit. He stumbles backwards. His nose is at an odd angle and he presses his fingers to the thin trickle of blood coming from his nose. He gapes at her, red blood staining his green skin. It’s too familiar a scene for her to handle and the nausea returns with a vengeance.

“Never,” she forces out, her shoulders shaking with anger and fear, “ _Never_ speak her name again.”

She turns on her heels and runs toward the tunnel. As she fumbles her way into the tunnel, out off the corner of her eye she can see Quinn threatening the Jedi with his blaster. The red light of a lightsaber flashes behind her eyelids and she forces herself to keep her eyes open. She can still hear the hiss as a blade ignites, still feel the sands of Korriban beneath her feet.

The echo of an old scream chases her out of the tunnel and she presses her face into a wall of snow.

She breathes in the cold and digs her fingers into the cold wet ice flakes, a wonderful reminder that this is _not_ Korriban, and she is _not_ screaming. She loves the smell of snow. It’s clear and bites at her, and she can only describe it as smelling like how she imagines iron would taste. Sand clouds and dirties, snow cleans.

Soon all she can hear is her own steady breathing and the whisper of mountain wind.

There’s a crunch of snow behind her. Quinn steps out of the tunnel and comes to a stop a few feet behind her. He says nothing, but just having someone else _be_ around steadies her, centers her in reality the same way that the icy snow grounds her.

“The Jedi,” she says at last, her voice hoarse, “What happened?”

“He persisted in speaking with you,” Quinn informs her calmly, as though there’s nothing wrong even though she can _tell_ he’s concerned, “And then he attempted to pass on a holo frequency to you. I… discouraged him.”

She sighs in relief. She never wants to speak to that Jedi ever again, never want to hear him speak about… about… “Thank you,” she says earnestly, pressing her eyes shut as she keeps her breathing measured, “I’m sorry I… I didn’t mean to… “

“There’s absolutely nothing to apologize for, my lord,” he quickly replies, shutting down her guilt before it can tear her to bits.

“Still. Thank you.” She slowly pulls her face out of the snow and lets herself stumble backwards. Standing is a mite trickier when she can’t feel part of her leg. “We should…” she tries to think of their mission. What are they supposed to be doing?

“Jaesa Willsaam’s parents, my lord,” he reminds her, “I have the coordinates. We can head out whenever you’re ready.”

Yes, they have to find Jaesa Willsaam’s parents. There’s work to be done. She doesn’t have time for her own petty dramas, she has to keep working so that Baras keeps her a life. All she has to do is focus on the work, do the job in front of her. “Right, of course,” she says, taking one step at a time, “Let’s move.”

~*~

The tower they’re searching for is at the very edge of the Glarus valley, tucked into the mountain ridge before the Apalis Coast. They’re spitting distance from the heart of Republic territory.

It’s ridiculously easy to infiltrate the compound. The guard isn’t particularly heavy, and they skirt around the edge of the tower before heading inside. A couple of patrolling soldiers catch sight of them and Gimrizh kills them without thinking. It feels a bit like hacking away at Thutrel’s words, but it doesn’t make her feel less horrid. It just leaves two dead bodies for her to step over as she continues to penetrate the compound.

She kicks down a door and uses the force to prop the entry way open as Quinn follows her inside. This section of the tower isn’t quite as obviously opulent as she has come to expect, partly due to the overturned tables that a troop of house guards are hiding behind.

Quinn lobs a smoke bomb over the top of their barricade and the ensuing chaos makes it easy for Gimrizh to slip through and kill them, the bright red of her blade barely visible through the smoke.

Three bodies fall to the ground and they move on through the tower complex. It’s oddly silent inside, behind the whir of a distant generator and muffled outside noises, there’s only the sound of their own footsteps echoing through the halls.

There’s another guard up ahead, pacing in front of a large circular room that hums with the feeling of people.

She doesn’t bother to do much, she just walks up and runs him through with her lightsaber before he can so much as lift his blaster.

Two guards rush her as she strides carelessly into the room. Both are sent flying into the walls with a flick of her wrist.

Her senses were true, there are three people in the room, excluding the two now unconscious guards. Jaesa Willsaam’s parents are there, a willowy woman who must be Parvin and a stocky man who steps in front of his wife, that’s Gregor. But there’s a third person there are well, dressed in Jedi robes and with a lightsaber hilt already in his hand. She _does not_ want to deal with another _krething_ Jedi.

Parvin gasps as Gimrizh enters and steps backwards to hang behind her husband. There are supply crates, bags, all sorts of things littering the floor. Is the Jedi here to help them escape? “No…" Parvin's face turns pale as snow. "General Gisselle’s warning came true! The Sith has come for us!”

“I didn’t think it possible…” Gregor whispers, clutching his wife’s hand.

The Jedi moves to defend the two civilians, “I am Volryder, a Jedi Master. Consider this your only warning, Sith. You will not harm the Willsaams, I shall not allow it. I’m not going anywhere and I will protect them, no matter what. If you do anything to them, I will not hesitate.”

Hm… What would be the best thing to do to these people to convince Jaesa Willsaam to join the Sith Order? Like with Yonlach, Gimrizh feels that a pointless death would just confuse the girl. The goal is to make her see the truth of the matter, that there is no place for her but with the Empire. Killing her parents would just set the girl more firmly on the side of the Jedi. 

It's nothing to do with honoring Gisselle's wishes, it's just inefficient. That's what she tells herself anyway. 

“I’m here to do things _for_ them, not _to_ them,” she says, her thoughts so muddled that it’s difficult to think what the best course of action is.

Jaesa’s father sighs in relief, “Then there’s no need for further violence? What is it you want?”

“This has to do with Jaesa,” Parvin suddenly speaks up, “Doesn’t it?”

Gimrizh nods, “You see it correctly.”

“Sith…” Parvin pleads, “Jaesa was our life, she was going to marry into Alderaanian nobility, so that we would no longer be servants. When she left, we sacrificed that dream. We don’t know anything about Jaesa now, we were told we would never see her again. There's no information we can give you. We’re just servants. What could you want with us?”

There’s her opening. “I’m here to deliver you from servitude.”

She can see Quinn furrow his brow in confusion. He doesn’t outwardly disapprove, but she can tell he can’t see where she’s going with this. Hells, she barely knows where she’s going with this, but whatever gets Jaesa’s parents to join the Empire.

“You… you want to help us?” Gregor asks, doubtfully.

Parvin shakes her head frantically, “No - the Sith is toying with us before killing us!”

“Head your wife’s warning, Gregor Willsaam,” Volryder agrees. Jedi, close minded as always. “Sith are devious and demented.”

“Is that what you mean, Sith?” Gregor demands, “By killing us you will ‘end our servitude’? Can’t you spare us?”

“If you align with the Empire, you live,” Gimrizh offers.

He isn’t fully convinced, “And if we do? What will happen to us if we do as you say?”

Money, his weakness is money. They’ve been servants their whole lives, riches would turn them over without hesitation. Jaesa’s been long gone from their lives, how much loyalty do they still have to her? “I’ll see to it you live like kings.”

Parvin draws herself up with a fury, “You _scum_! You want us to betray our daughter?”

“Parvin…” Gregor speaks to her in a soft low voice, “Jaesa’s gone off to live a life of discipline and detachment. We are unlikely to ever see her again. This Sith is offering a way out of this, a way to live! If it’s submitting to our daughter’s enemy or death… shouldn’t we choose a life of comfort?” he turns back to Gimrizh, at last, “Sith! I choose that Parvin and I live in the arms of the Empire. I trust that my daughter will understand and remain strong.”

“A wise approach,” Gimrizh agrees.

He tries to smile at his wife, “Please, my love. Stand with me on this.”

She sighs deeply but slowly nods her head, “My place is with you, Gregor. As long as we’re alive, there’s hope.”

“Then we are in agreement,” Gregor decides, “We shall embrace the Empire. Tell us what shall happen next.”

Dromund Kaas, she should have them go to the capital. They’ll be under Baras’s thumb, but they’ll be alive and serving the Empire. Just like she is, and just like she’s trying to get Jaesa to be. “The Empire’s capital planet awaits your arrival.”

“Ahem,” the Jedi interrupts, “I’m so glad you’ve all found an accord. But there’s still the matter of you being our enemy, Sith. Not only will I not allow the Willsaams to do this, but you’ve had yourself a killing spree getting here. That can’t go unpunished.”

It would be a great stress relief to kill a Jedi, but she’s walking on one good leg and she’s not… she’s not okay. Her hands are twitching unsteadily from her earlier experience and her nerves are drawn out and taunt. She might not survive a fight with a Jedi master and that’s what makes up her mind. “Step down, _Jedi_ , or everyone dies.”

Gregor steps in nervously, “Yes, Master Volryder. Stay true to the Jedi code and keep the peace. Too many have died already today. We go of our own free will and spare this house any further pain.”

Thank the stars, finally a use for the rubbish that makes up the Jedi code.

“This doesn’t sit right,” Volryder says finally, “But I can’t attack someone walking in peace. Even a Sith.”

“You just saved your life,” she bluffs with all the false confidence she can pull on.

He stares her down, “The code is everything, Sith, but I wouldn’t expect you to respect it. Leave out the back door to avoid any more casualties. I’ll say nothing further.”

She nods to the group, “Glad we could resolve this peacefully.”

The Willsaams watch as Gimrizh and Quinn head out the other side of the room, the Jedi not moving to intercept. Good, they can get away from this in one piece. There’s a back door, as promised and Gimrizh scampers out of it as fast as her banged up leg can take her.

The passage leads to the mountainside, an empty snowed in pathway that skirts the all the way to the top of the mountain along the edge of Republic space and Killik territory.

“I admit, my lord,” Quinn says quietly, once they’re far away from House Organa on the edge of the mountains, “I expected you to simply kill the Willsaams. You surprise me at every turn.”

“It would just make Jaesa Willsaam want nothing to do with the Sith,” she explains as she wades through the ankle deep snow, “This way, she can see how happy her parents are in the arms of the Empire, and it increases her motivation to join us. My mission is to turn her, not give her reason to despise the Empire.”

His feet crush the snow behind her, a pleasant sort of sound, “No, my lord, I agree with you. I thought it was a clever move.”

“Really?” she pauses at the top of this section of the path to try and plot her course to the nearest outpost, “I didn’t really know what I was doing, I just made it up as I went along.”

“Then it was very inspired of you, my lord,” he corrects.

The pale, cold blue sky of Alderaan shines in his eye and she finds herself drawn in, the shock and injury gripping her chest beginning to loosen - her holo beeps.

“I bet it's Vette,” she mutters to herself as she fishes the metal disk out of her pockets and holds it in her palm. She connects the call and comes to a stop on the top of the mountain.

Like being stabbed, it’s not Vette at all, but Baras, “Ah apprentice,” he says in his oily voice, “I am seeking an update. News of your search for Jaesa Willsaam’s family has reached me and I am quite concerned.”

Ice trickles down her spine. Concerned is the last thing she wants him to be. She needs Baras to trust in her obedience, not question her moves. “No cause for concern,” she reassures him, “I sent her parents to you.”

“Really?” Is that pride she can hear? Baras does seem pleased. “Excellent thinking. As I torture them, their pain will scream into the galaxy and torment their daughter.”

That’s… not what she thinks is best, “I told them that the Empire would make them rich. I do not mean to question you, but I believe it might be best if Jaesa Willsaam sees the Empire as the savior in this situation. She will be more inclined to turn to the dark side of the force if she sees the Empire as being in the right.”

There’s a second when Baras pauses that makes her panic. Then he nods in agreement and she lets her hearts beat again, “Very conniving. The happier they are under Imperial rule, the more it will tear at the Jedi’s heart. I will make it so. You eclipse my greatest hopes for you, apprentice. Keep it up and you will prove that you belong by my side,” She can’t see his face, but his body language darkens, “Which of course, makes Duke Kendoh’s gossip about you all the more foolish.”

“Gossip?” Gimrizh glances back at Quinn, who looks just as confused as she is, “What gossip?”

“First off, he said you set an explosion that caused the death of several Thul dignitaries,” Baras begins.

What could that be? The explosion at the power generator perhaps. Kendoh did say that members of House Thul used the generator for their own security measures, perhaps that explosion resulted in their deaths as well. “That was his doing, not mine,” she says defensively.

“He also said,” Baras continues, “That you helped the Republic defend their front in the Organa’s war against House Ulgo. Painting you as a traitor.”

Damn it all, how did that get back to Kendoh? The duke might be cowardly scum, but he is politically minded. She shouldn’t put it past him to have spies everywhere on Alderaan. “Give me permission,” she asks, “And I will _deal_ with him.”

Baras seems almost amused by her, “All that matters to me is that your mission is complete. For whatever reason, the man has taken it upon himself to slander you. I have no further use for Duke Kendoh. Punish him however you please. If it were me, he’d pay severely.”

Gimrizh imagines running Kendoh through with her lightsaber. It’s an enticing thought, “I’m curious to see what he has to say for himself.”

There’s something… She flinches and whirls her head around. There’s no one behind her, there’s no one around besides her and Quinn, and yet… Every hair on the back of her neck stands up straight, her hands clench into tight fists and she longs to reach for her lightsaber. She’s being followed. Someone’s out here with them.

“My lord?” Quinn asks quietly, away from the holo’s speakers.

Her free hand reaches into the tiny pocket that holds the tracker she had taken from Vette. There's no one else it could be. These mountains are hardly filled with tourists or mild mannered hikers. “It’s Vette’s friend from earlier,” she replies cryptically.

“Is there a distraction?” Baras’s tone makes it quite clear that there had damn well better _not_ be a distraction.

She shakes her head frantically and clutches the tracker, “A minor inconvenience my master, nothing more. I can deal with this.”

“Do what you will,” Baras allows, “But do it quickly. Until we destroy the threat of Jaesa Willsaam, nothing else is important. Goodbye, apprentice.”

She almost crushes the holo beneath her hand as she tosses it away. “Damn it all!” she grits her teeth together. First the Jedi, then Kendoh, and now _another krething Jedi_? Her vision blurs with fear and annoyance and _anger_.

She lashes out and puts her fist into a nearby tree. Vibrations run through her wrist. It feels good to hurt something.

“My lord,” Quinn protests quietly as she pulls her hand out of the tree bark, “You cannot fight a Jedi with an injured hand.”

She stares at the thin rivulets of blood that trickle down her wrist. She can’t really feel the pain, but she knows it must at least sting. Splinters stick out from all directions in her hand and there’s a gaping hole in the tree trunk that’s faintly smeared with her own blood. It made her feel better in the moment, but now she just feels a million times worse.

“Fuck,” she mutters, “I can’t do anything right.”

Look at her. She’s pathetic. A simple, force-damned name sends her panicking and now she can’t even take out her frustration without hurting herself.

"... I beg to differ, my lord."

"Don't. Please."

He says nothing more. With silent patience, Quinn gently takes her hand and starts removing the wood chips from her skin, dropping the blood covered splinters into the ground once they’re out. She just stands there without speaking and lets him work, her brain not functioning properly enough to do anything besides stare absently at her ruined hand.

She’s a disaster. Why _does_ Baras even bother with her, when she’s such a weak, useless, disgrace to the Sith name. He’ll figure it out eventually. He’ll realize that she’s just one spoken name away from a complete mental breakdown and then he’ll kill her like all broken apprentices are killed and there’ll be nothing she can do to stop it. She’s a failed tool, trash that deserves to be thrown away. Baras’ll realize this soon and then kill her. Maybe he’ll have Quinn kill her instead. That’d be fitting.

“How far away is the Jedi, my lord?” Quinn inquires, smearing a thin layer of kolto over her hand before wrapping a thick white bandage around the mess.

She shrugs, a stiff, poorly thought out movement. “Not too far. I can sense him. Head back to House Thul, I’ll meet you there when I’m done.”

He gives her a stern look. She can’t blame him, she probably looks like shit, certainly not a good condition in which to be fighting a Jedi alone. “It would be remiss of me to abandon you before a conflict, particularly at a time like this.”

“I need to handle this alone. Please Quinn, just do as I ask,” her words are flat and bland, boring lies.

“As you wish, my lord,” he finally agrees. He finishes wrapping her wrecked hand and then heads off down the mountain towards the Imperial outpost in the foothills.

As soon as he vanishes from sight, Gimrizh sinks to the ground and just sits in the snow, trying to breathe. The cold is reassuring, even as it soaks through her pants.

She knows, or at least she has a strong suspicion, of who this Jedi tracking her down is, but her skill at reading force signatures is too poor for her to be certain of anything yet. She can sense someone approaching. Quinn’s signature, a faint pulse that she can barely sense, fades. This Jedi just gets closer, and easier to sense as time sluggishly churns forward.

She rolls the tracker between her fingers, back and forth, until there are dents in her fingertips from the hard metal. 

It’s harder to keep it together when there’s no one else around. She almost wishes she hadn’t sent Quinn away, if only so that there would be someone else standing around and… not even doing anything, just existing near her. Whoever’s tracking her needs to show up already.

She can sense the Jedi get closer and closer and then she can sense someone behind her.

“Gimrizh,” the Jedi says, clearly relieved to see her.

“Quorian Dorjis,” she returns his greeting, “Hello.”

He moves to stand in her line of sight and she can see the smile on his familiar face, “It’s so good to see you again. I’m sorry I put a tracker on your friend, but I figured she wouldn’t give you my holo frequency.”

“She’s a good friend,” she says defensively, “What are you doing on Alderaan? I thought the Jedi would keep you in a hospital for a long time after what happened.”

“Oh,” he seems embarrassed, “They determined the source of whatever it was that the Sith on Korriban did to me, and I spent a few weeks getting rid of the false information that they had put into my head. But there’s kind of a new situation right now involving Jedi that have been acting strangely, and I’m on Alderaan to see a Jedi knight who’s working on that case. It’s not related, _we_ know that, but the council just wants to make sure.”

“Understandable,” she says distantly, thinking back to the time when she had broken Quorian out of prison on Korriban, as instructed. And then when she had told him the truth of what the Sith did to his mind, not as instructed. Her second act of disobedience on Korriban. She doesn’t regret it, but she worries about what will happen to her if Baras finds out. “Are you alright? Have you recovered from the overseer’s mental techniques?”

He nods and joins her in staring out into the valley in front of them, “I’ve been doing well. My mind is slowly returning to me, and time has dulled the horrors I experienced in that jail cell on Korriban.”

“Good,” Gimrizh replies, “And how was Tremel?”

“The overseer?” Quorian confirms, “He was well, when last I saw him. You were quite right with that tip, by the way. Tremel provided an excellent companion in my escape from Korriban. He did tell me something rather interesting though, were _you_ really the one who cut his hand off?”

Stars, it seems like such a long time ago. Back when she thought Baras was just another rung of the ladder for her to climb, before she realized how he has almost all the Sith Order and the Empire in his pocket. “In my defense,” she explains, “it was his hand or his life. Tremel was always kind to me and…” her throat closes, “I owed him a rather sizable favor.”

“I enjoyed his company,” he agrees, “Curious, a lifetime spent fighting Sith and then in a matter of days I met two amicable ones. You two will make me neutral yet.”

“What happened to him?”

“We parted ways on Hutta, I took a shuttle back to Tython, and he said he was going to spend some time in the outer rim before heading back to Imperial space. We’re still in touch, as he’s no longer technically an Imperial citizen - we get together a few times a month for food, drink, and surprisingly pleasant conversation. He’s a good man. But I don’t know what sector he’s in right now. If you want, I could give him your holo frequency?”

She shakes her head, “No, that’s alright,” she pulls a scrap of flimsi out of her pockets and scribbles down a string of numbers. Then she reaches her hand up to Quorian, “That’s my account number. Give that to Tremel when you next see him and tell him to buy himself a decent prosthetic with that money.”

He takes the number with a smile, “You’re a good person, Gimrizh.”

No she’s not. “You’re the only one who thinks that.”

“Yes, because you saved my life, helped me escape from the dungeons on Korriban, and then told me the truth about what the Sith did to me, even when you weren’t supposed to,” he reminds her with pointed words. “You did the right thing, and I owe you everything.”

“Don’t thank me,” she tries to sound like anything other than a flat recording, but her voice just isn’t cooperating.

“Too late,” he says lightly. “I followed you here with the intention of thanking you, so I’m going to have to thank you, or I’ll leave now.”

She shrugs, “Fine, say what you want.”

He smiles at her but it does nothing to remove the weight that’s pressing down on her, “I want to thank you for saving my life, and for saving my mind. And, don’t forget, for saving all those innocent lives that the false information the Sith put in my brain would have condemned. You put people you didn’t even know ahead of yourself, and I know that whatever you might have said back then, you did it at great risk to yourself.”

“It wasn’t like that,” she tries to deny.

“It was,” he states, “I know that if anyone finds out the truth, not only about me, but about Tremel, then you will be in danger. I won’t say anything, you know that, but the Sith Order is a dangerous place for someone who's disobeyed an order to be.”

“I’m fine,” she lies.

He unclips his lightsaber from his belt and holds it out to her, “I want you to have this. As thanks. To keep yourself safe.”

“I already have a lightsaber,” she says, staring at the plain, simple hilt of the weapon.

“And now you have two. One to cut down your enemies, and one to defend your back from your allies,” Quorian warns her.

He’s right. There’s Baras for her to contend with, and she remembers the painful warning her vision on Tatooine gave her. She’s already done something that could get her badly hurt by other Sith, and she knows that when Baras decides that she’s no longer worth it to him, he’ll use whatever he can against her. And a time when she let a Jedi go free, mission given to her by an overseer or not, is powerful ammunition against her. She can’t stay hidden forever. She takes the hilt slowly and holds it in her hands, “I’ll watch my back.”

He smiles a thin, worried smile at her, “Thank you. Promise me you’ll be careful.”

“I promise,” she assures him, “I have no intentions of dying anytime soon.”

“Then good luck,” he says in parting, giving her a respectful bow, “I hope to see you again, but I understand if the unfortunate reality of our situations doesn't allow it.”

“Goodbye, Quorian.”

~*~

 _Horizon_ is quiet and empty as Malavai types up his report to Baras. The lord Gimrizh is off dealing with a Jedi, Vette’s back at the rooms in House Thul, and Toovee got itself stuck in a maintenance subroutine and had to be powered down. It makes for an uncomfortable silence punctuated only by the whirr of the terminal and the click of his lightpen against the datapad.

Every statement he puts down has to be carefully considered and he goes over every sentence twice, changing words here and there. He still isn’t sure what to include in his report and what to leave out, even as he writes.

The two Jedi left alive on Tatooine go in, because he doesn’t have a choice about that. They’re enemies of the Empire and writing them off as dead or unaccounted for is an active danger. He details their work on Alderaan in as opinionated a manner as he can. Even describing the mission to aid the Republic forces he tries to stress the strategic necessity of Gimrizh’s decision. He includes the encounter with the Jedi Thutrel, but doesn't mention how Gimrizh reacted.

That’s a tricky sentence to write. Explaining that his commanding officer had a outright panic attack in the middle of a field mission is never an easy thing to explain. So he leaves it out. He puts down 'negative reaction to the Jedi's presence' and decides that anything further would enter the realm of observational bias. He's not an idiot, he knows that whatever he tells Baras will have a significant impact on both the lord Gimrizh's career and her life. He has to remain as professional and unbiased as possible.

If she _is_ holding anti-Imperial sentiments, well then that's another matter. But so far, Malavai's pretty certain that despite her questionable decisions, she does have the glory of the Empire in mind when she works. Sometimes he disagrees with her methodology, but that's to be expected and it can't be the only reason leading up to a condemning report. She's actually one of the most reasonable commanders he's served under. Pity, that she's just Lord Baras' apprentice.

He finishes his report by mentioning the Jedi tracking them and that Gimrizh remained behind to kill the man. Then he sends the report on to Baras and it's no longer in his hands.

Before leaving _Horizon_ , he checks on the location of the SIS agent, Voloren. He's been running a tracking algorithm designed to pinpoint the agent’s location ever since Malavai heard of the agent's sighting on Lothal a week ago. It looks like the agent is hiding out on Hutta.

The thought of finally closing the books on Voloren is very tempting. Perhaps he should ask for a temporary leave of absence to deal with the agent? Maybe after they finish hunting Jaesa Willsaam.

He powers down the ship before leaving and make his way back through the streets of the House Thul capital.

Night has fallen while he was busy making his report. Alderaan has a sky full of bright stars with one luminous moon hanging in space above the city. Compared to the trash bin of Nar Shaddaa, it's relatively easy to see stars on Alderaan. Even though there are massive cities on the planet they are scattered around and interspersed with vast areas of uninhabited lands. The light pollution is low enough to allow the stars to shine through.

He's still considering the problem that is Voloren when he arrives in the House Thul suite. It's silent inside as well. Vette is sitting on the couch, absently flipping through the pages of a holo novel. Gimrizh has returned too. There's her lightsaber belt left on the table. Two lightsabers are clipped to it this time, which likely means she was successful in killing the Jedi who tracked her. Where else would she get the second weapon from, after all?

Vette jumps to her feet as soon as he’s through the door and shoots him a look. She hurries over to his side, “What the hells happened?” she whispers.

“What?” He doesn’t understand what’s going on, “Has something happened?”

“I don’t know!” Vette complains under her breath, “ _Something_ happened when you guys were out and there is _something_ really wrong with the boss. She looked _dead_ when she walked in and when I tried to hug her-”

His eyes narrow, “You tried to _hug_ Lord Gimrizh?”

“Shut up, I’ve done it plenty of times before,” she mutters, “But she almost _punched_ me this time! And when she missed it was like… like she didn’t even know she had done it. And then she just said sorry and went out on the balcony and she hasn’t said a word or even moved since! There’s something seriously wrong and she’s not talking and I have no idea what happened during your mission to make her like this. _Do_ something!”

He can see deep and serious worry on Vette’s face and he knows she’s right, even though it pains him to say it. Gimrizh _hadn’t_ been fine when they parted ways and killing a Jedi had likely worsened her condition instead of improving it. “I’ll try and speak with her,” he reassures Vette.

She sighs in relief, “ _Thank_ you.”

Vette disappears into her room with a click of a lock. The balcony door is still open and when he glances over he can see the edge of her boot near the door.

"My lord?" he asks, stepping out on the balcony.

She's curled up in a ball near the door, her back against the outside wall and her knees tucked close to her chest. Her eyes stare blankly out at the city and she doesn't look up when he arrives. He’s seen something similar in soldiers before, after a battle went from bad to worse. It doesn't bode well to see the same look on her.

"Are you alright?" He tries again, worried by her unresponsive state.

She still doesn't move, but she does speak, which is some improvement. "No."

At least she's honest. "Is there anything I can do, my lord?"

"No- maybe- I don't know," she says distantly, like he’s hearing her from behind a curtain, "Can you... stay?"

That makes sense. Contact with others can help with recovery from a shock like the one she received earlier in the day. He never focused much on the psychological side of medicine, but he knows enough to understand that leaving her alone might not be the best course of action. He sits down on the bench and tries not to focus on the fact that she's huddled on the ground instead of using the available seating. "Of course, my lord."

"And don't call me that," she mutters, "Just. Just not now. In the morning."

He sighs, but relents to her request. She's clearly not completely stable right now, it would be counterproductive for him to push her. "Very well.”

Gimrizh goes silent again before switching topics, “Do you have any family?”

That’s not the question he expected from her. Although to be honest, it’s difficult to expect anything from her when he’s never seen her like this before. “Yes,” he answers, deciding that the best thing right now is just to be honest and hope that it helps whatever state of mind she’s struggling through, “I have a younger brother.”

“No parents?”

“My mother and father served in the military as well. They were killed during the war.”

Guilt floods into her eyes and she lowers her head minutely, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for, my lo-” he catches himself and cuts his sentence short. “It was many years ago and it was a common occurrence during the war. Nothing more can be said about them that would require an apology.”

“Tell me about your brother?” she requests quietly.

What could she possibly learn from him that she couldn’t find out from reading his file? “Forgive me, but why do you want to know?”

Her head turns to the side, away from him, “I feel like you know everything about me. In contrast, I know almost nothing about you. I’d like to change that, at least a little.”

The irony isn’t lost on him. He feels that it’s the other way around, that he has no idea who she really is or what she wants. Perhaps if she learns more about him, he will learn more about her. And it’s not an idea that he particularly minds. He doesn’t object to the thought of her learning more about him, not at all. Which is unusual. “My brother,” he says at last, “is named Lucian. He’s five years my junior. He attended the same military academy on Dromund Kaas that I did, and currently serves as a pilot aboard the Harrower  _Prominence_.”

“He flies for the Navy?” Gimrizh asks in a whispered voice.

He thinks of the holo he has of Lucian standing sheepishly in front of his first crashed speeder and decides that’s probably _not_ the best snapshot of his brother’s life that he can give her. “Yes. He's a far better pilot than I am. He was top of his class when he graduated and has served with distinction since then.”

“You’re proud of him,” she observes, like she’s familiar with this concept.

He is, very much so, “He’s quite accomplished.”

Her fingers fiddle with bandage wrapped around her hand, “What’s he like?”

“Kind,” and it says a lot about Lucian that that’s the first word Malavai can think of, “Strong willed, determined. He… accomplishes his goals without much thought for limitations and obstacles. I suppose he _is_ rather reckless, although he does have a knack for getting out of all the trouble he gets into.”

She moves her head up a bit, “Was he like that as a kid?”

“Worse,” Malavai admits with a tiny smile, “When he was seventeen he got arrested for flying without a license. It was his... I believe  _sixth_  offense and I had to take a leave of absence and travel from Balmorra to Dromund Kaas in order to pay bail. Fortunately, he ceased most of that behavior once he joined the Navy.”

The Jedi Thutrel had been talking about his family, he remembers. Just before Gimrizh had snapped, the Jedi spoke of a cousin that he thought she knew. Perhaps that’s the root of the problem? Does Gimrizh even _have_ any family? “May I ask...,” he begins cautiously, “do you have any family?”

Her shoulders tense and her head ducks between her knees. “I- I was taken from my parents when I was young. I don’t remember them. You know that.”

“I remember,” he agrees, but he’s clearly close to the problem and that’s _not_ it. “But - and please forgive my forwardness - that wasn’t quite my question.”

She doesn’t say anything. The silence stretches out between them and Malavai regrets ever asking. He’s about to get up and leave her to her thoughts when she finally speaks up.

“I had a sister,” she says, her flat monotone cracking like shattered glass.

Past tense. _Had_ a sister. “I am… very sorry.”

“She wasn’t… we weren’t… She wasn’t related to me,” Gimrizh reveals painfully, “She was… she was Mirialan.”

“You knew the cousin the Jedi was referring to?” It seems so ridiculous, absurd even, but there was no way for her to fake this level of sheer _brokenness_.

“ _Yaina,_ ” Her shoulders start to shake. “Her name was _Yaina_.”

“And you were close?” he asks, trying to coax out whatever is burning away at the front of her mind.

“We were… she was my _sister_ ,” she chokes on her words and lifts her head for a moment to wipe away tears - she’s _crying_ , “We were together since we were nine and we… we were the only sub-species in our class so… we just did everything together. We were... she...” she drags her bandaged hand across her cheeks with something greater than simple affection - with _reverence_.  “She _designed my tattoos_.”

He reaches a hand out, but remembers what Vette said earlier and stops before he touches her. It's not what she wants at the moment, and it's rather inappropriate besides. 

“It was all my fault,” Gimrizh sobs, “I… I _ruined_ _everything_! I didn’t listen to her and I was so horrible to her and I didn’t notice when things got bad. She _ran_ and I- I-”

Only a fraction of the words that spill from her lips are comprehensible. It sounds as though this Yaina attempted to run away from Korriban? Or at least, it would have had to be Korriban, given what else he knows about Gimrizh. And that clearly Gimrizh somehow thinks it was all her fault. “She was… killed?” he tries to guess.

She shakes her head and finally looks up at him, her yellow eyes puffy from crying and thick streaks from tears marring her face, “She put a lightsaber through her head,” she admits, her lower lip quivering.

Suicide? Malavai flinches at the thought and then pales as he imagines Lucian doing the same.

“She just…” she puts her hand to the bottom on her chin and wraps her fingers around a lightsaber that exists only in her own mind, “Right in front of me. We were in the desert… I- I had to carry her back.”

“Ah,” he thinks he understands, “How long ago did she die?”

“We were nineteen,” she whispers.

Not long ago at all then, only a few years. And if she’s never talked to anyone about this before, it would explain why so little as a name would have sent her reeling. He awkwardly kneels in front of her and slowly places a hand on her shoulder. “I sincerely apologize for your loss. You shouldn't have had to go through that, and I regret that you did.”

She doesn’t do anything more than flinch, which is a good deal better than trying to punch him, “It was all my fault, Quinn. I always ruin everything. She was… she was… she was so much better than me. It was like she was this far off, beautiful, amazing, _wonderful_ person and sometimes I couldn’t even figure out why she _bothered_ with someone like me. And then she was just… _not there._ I don’t know what to _do_ without her. I don’t know who _I am_ anymore.”

“If it helps,” he tries, “I think you’ve been doing quite well. You are a capable and skilled commander, and very successful.”

She shakes her head slowly at him, “I’m really not.”

“If you're disinclined to believe me, I doubt there’s anything I can say to change your mind,” he admits. Starting an argument now would be counterproductive. "But you should know that neither Vette nor I see you that way."

She drops her head into her lap again and Malavai moves to sit next to her. For a long time, neither of them say anything, they just sit there is silence. By sitting on the ground like this he's ruining his uniform, but he can't find it in himself to care much. His concern right now is making sure that she's alright. Which so far... He can't say for sure. He doesn't know if she'll be alright, but he doesn't know what else to do without offending her.

And he's not used to seeing her like this. She usually gives off such a perfect image of poise and power that seeing her crying like this is rather nerve wracking. It's easier for him, for his mission for Baras, if he sees her as a cutout figure of a Sith. The person he thought he met on Balmorra was the epitome of what the Empire stood for; efficient, strong, obedient. He is, after all, spying on her for Baras. Imagining her as that idea of a person is easy. Realizing that she's real, whether he wants to act like it or not, is far more difficult. He's run infiltration and information gathering details before. One of the first things he learned is that you have to see your targets as just that - targets. Not people. Dehumanize them. It was simple enough to do at first, especially considering that she's _not_ a human. But now it's difficult. She forces him to see who's behind the Sith mask. Once you start to emphasize with the enemy an operative is lost.

He can't let himself become confused about his mission goals. He's here to report on her, nothing more. And yet Baras explicitly asked him to find out where her loyalties lie, about her personality, who she is. He's unused to this and he greatly dislikes being so out of control.

He catches sight of a familiar star in the sky and raises a finger to point at it, "That's Rion Prime," he tells her, "Can you see it?"

She drags her head up to stare at the star, and then blinks slowly, "Enceladus," she remembers distantly, "The third moon of Rion."

"The brightest object in its sector," he confirms.

She hums thoughtfully to herself and falls quiet again, this time staring at the star instead of down at her hands.

After the moon has dragged itself over a few degrees of sky, he sighs and says, "You should probably get some sleep.”

“I know,” she agrees, wiping at her eyes with the hem of her shirt, “I’m sorry.”

He stands and holds out his hand to her. After a moment, she takes it and lets him pull her up, “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he tells her firmly.

“Still…” she hesitates, following as he leads her back inside. She’s exhausted enough that she allows Malavai to direct her to her room without protest, clinging to his hand like a child would. “Thank you,” she says, standing at her bedroom door, “For telling me about your brother.”

He bows and finds that he honestly means it when he says, “Anytime, my lord,”

~*~

Whatever weird bullshit happened yesterday must have faded somewhat, Vette thinks. Gimrizh looks less horrible in the morning and even throws a pillow at Vette when she comes to wake her up. That's a damn sight better than the punch she tries to throw last night. Both the captain and her Sithyness seem tired, which means they probably didn't get a whole lot of sleep last night. They both owe her big time for not making a million jokes about that. At least it looks like the captain took her advice about taking to Gimrizh. That's good. Vette can't be the only emotional backbone of this team.

Apparently, Gimrizh informs get over breakfast, there's one thing left they have to do. Talk to Kendoh. Although Gimrizh says 'talk' like most people say 'kill' which means there might not necessarily be a whole lot of talking.

The three of them pack up and head down to the Thul Chamber of Politics where Kendoh’s probably waiting.

The duke’s lounging around when they step in and he actually looks happy to see them, or happy-smug anyways, “Ah come in!” The duke says with a smirk, standing up to greet them, “I heard of your success, and I am so very pleased for you!”

“Cut the crap, Kendoh,” Gimrizh demands, crossing her arms. Vette snorts and then covers her mouth when Quinn glares at her.

Kendoh falters, “Is there a problem?”

“You’re the problem,” she informs him, “Did you think my master honestly cares what rubbish comes out of your mouth?”

“Ah,” Kendoh swallows and tries again, “I can explain. I realized that when you blew up the power generator, several of my rivals would be exposed. I seized the opportunity to eliminate them. I… had company when I was speaking with your master, and I needed to keep my fellow house members blind to my maneuvering.”

FimmRess, the ugly Sith bodyguard with a face full of gross, steps forward, “That is a lie,” he snarls at Kendoh, “You contacted Darth Baras yourself, alone.”

“Got any other convenient excuses?” Gimrizh asks.

Kendoh glances between the three of them blocking the door and his group of suddenly not so comforting bodyguards. “I- I only wanted Baras to know I was looking out for him. It was harmless. I knew you would succeed. And all Baras would care about was that.”

She just glares at him, “Do I look like I give a fuck?”

“Please!” Kendoh pleads, “Don’t kill me! FimmRess, you and your men are assigned to me - If I am attacked, you must defend.”

The bodyguard isn’t persuaded, “If Darth Baras’ apprentice decides you die, we will not intercede.”

Gimrizh sighs and gives Kendoh a scathing look, “Oh, I’m not going to kill you. But you leave Alderaan forever.”

Kendoh gapes, “And give up everything I- I’ve worked so hard for? My life is here, my money, my plans-”

“Taking everything away from you is better than granting you a quick death,” Gimrizh agrees, “I’m not feeling particularly merciful. I want you to suffer in despair for a long time. Oh, and I don’t want to force FimmRess to have to clean up the mess.”

“I…” Kendoh stutters, “I shall never return to this place?”

“Correct,” Gimrizh nods to FimmRess, “Why don’t you escort him off planet? Make sure he goes somewhere rather far away.”

The Sith guards look like this is the best damn news they’ve heard all year and they grab Kendoh by the arms and frog-march him out. Vette applauds as the guy leaves and the look Gimrizh gives her isn’t quite as withering as it could be. More indulgent, really. Good. They’re making progress.

“Let’s head out,” Gimrizh says to the both of them, “I need to report to my master and we have to keep up on the hunt for Jaesa Willsaam.”

She strides out of the room, but Vette hangs back and grabs Quinn’s arm before he can leave too.

“Whatever you did,” she says to him quietly, “I think it helped.”

The captain gives her a look, “It’s not enough.”

Vette shrugs, “Yeah, I guess not. What was wrong with her last night, anyway? Actually no- I’m not going to ask. If she wants me to know, she’ll tell me.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Quinn agrees.

She punches him in the arm and saunters out of the room after Gimrizh, “Thanks for talking to her, though. We gotta keep the boss safe, you know?”

That’s their job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Quinn has a brother! Totally made up Lucian btw, he obviously doesn't exist in canon but we will see more of him here.  
> I'm not a big fan of 'mysterious backstories' so I'm trying to get all of Gimrizh's past explained. After we meet Jaesa, there'll be a chapter all about Gimrizh's childhood and whatnot and that'll be everything.  
> Quorian Dorjis is from a side quest on Korriban. The player is told to free him from his cell so that he can report misinformation back to the jedi. The player can choose whether or not to let him know the truth, as Gimrizh did. 
> 
> A brief glossary:  
> Cheapjack - slang for a badly constructed droid  
> Thutrel - not star wars, sorry. I'm stealing from Tolkien now. The name is Khuzdul meaning 'star of all stars'  
> Enceladus: A real moon that orbits Saturn! I love space guys, space is awesome
> 
> Let me know what you guys think! Still in desperate need of a beta, please let me know if there's anyone interested!


	6. Two Pawns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright we got all that PANSY EMOTIONAL BULLSHIT out of the way last chapter it's time for FIGHT SCENES  
> And we finally meet Jaesa Willsaam. Yeah, remember how back in like chapter 1 I said we'd meet Jaesa by chapter 4? That totally happened.

“Nar Shaddaa!” Vette says, slamming her hands down on the galley table.

Gimrizh puts down her cup of caff mixed with crushed caffeine pills and slowly glances up at the Twi’lek. She blinks twice.

Quinn looks up from his datapad, “Good morning to you too, Vette.”

With a roll of her eyes, Vette pushes Quinn’s datapad and Gimrizh’s mug to the side, sweeping both far enough away that neither can make a grab for their belongings without standing up, “We’re just waiting for Baras to get back to us about Jaesa Willsaam, right? We’re not being sent anywhere, we don’t have an urgent mission, we’re just docked at this dumb station, waiting. Right?”

“Right,” Gimrizh says slowly.

“So let’s go to Nar Shaddaa!” Vette proposes, finally getting to what she’s wanted to say for the last five minutes, ever since getting the holocall from her gang, freaking out about it, and then running over to the galley to find someone, “I got a call from this Twi’lek gang I used to be a part of, and they need my help! There’s this piece of Duros scum called Cada Bliss, he’s one long story, but he managed to get his hands on a piece of Ryloth treasure, the Star of Kala’unn. I’ve got to get it back.”

Gimrizh seems to think it over and then asks, “What do you need to do?”

Oh thank the stars, Gimrizh is actually going to allow this! "I've made it out like I'm a potential buyer. Cada Bliss will send me the location for pick up and we beat up anyone who gets in my way! It'll be in the Mezenti Spaceport, on Nar Shaddaa. That's where Cada Bliss makes most of his drops."

Quinn actually looks interested - but there's no way she's letting him come on this little adventure with her gang. "Actually, my lord," he says, clearing his throat, "I would not be adverse to Nar Shaddaa. I have some business to attend to on Hutta."

"Alright, I have no problem with it," Gimrizh agrees, "We head to Nar Shaddaa."

"Yes!" Vette cheers.

~*~

Vette’s near giddy with glee at the prospect of meeting up with her old gang again, and also somehow terribly angry at Cada Bliss for getting his grimy hands on such a precious Ryloth treasure. Either way, she’s near quivering with excitement and or fury as she makes her way to the hangar where Bliss’ has his ship docked. Gimrizh is following behind her, carrying two lightsabers instead of her usual single one, for reasons Vette has no idea about. Maybe the extra blade is for intimidation purposes? To be fair, Vette just needs the Sith for muscle, she knows Gimrizh has no idea how important this treasure is to Twi’lek culture.

Stars, it'll feel so good to nab that treasure right from under Bliss' nose. Maybe she'll get a couple of punches in while she's at it. That'll be fun. He'll learn not to piss her off _and_ not to steal Twi'lek treasures. She's even got a speech planned and everything.

She saunters through the Mezenti, mentally ticking off the numbers emblazoned onto the hangar bays as she goes. “This is it,” she says tensely, nudging Gimrizh with her elbow.

They make their way through the huge metal chamber to the landing platform. A couple of short range shuttles are docked there already, and two people are standing around in front of a smaller one, probably only something with enough fuel and mileage to get them to a docking station in orbit. One’s a big mean Kaleesh bodyguard, that must be the muscle called ‘the Virus’. What a shit name. Was 'Greg' taken or something? The other guy is far more familiar, that sleazy Duros scum, Cada Bliss. Oh yeah. Vette’s gonna _enjoy_ this.

She clenches her fists at her sides and leads the march up to Bliss.

The Duros stops messing with a metal case - _her_ metal case - and looks up at them. His face goes from expectant to confused, to suspicious, " _You two certainly don't look like Corellian art dealers. Virus, is it possible that we have been deceived? That's this little rat tail thief has caught us unawares_?" His clicking Duros speech is easy for her to translate.

The hulk-dude shakes his head, "Not possible."

Cada Bliss smirks at the two of them and she wants to grub his face into her boots, " _Then these two have just walked themselves into a very dangerous scenario._ "

"Hand over the Star of Kala'unn," Gimrizh says, crossing her arms, "And no one gets hurt."

"No," Vette protests. She glares at Cada Bliss and bets she's a quicker draw than he is, "I still want to hurt him."

Gimrizh shrugs, "Well. In that case."

"Cada Bliss!" Vette accuses the Duros with a firmly pointed finger, "You have exploited my people, stolen our artifacts, and committed numerous crimes against Twi'leks the galaxy over! We will not allow you to keep the Star of Kala'unn and we won't allow your crimes to go unpunished!"

Cada Bliss rolls his eyes, " _Virus, do we have need for an ugly rat tail or a horned brute?_ "

"No," the Virus says in his monosyllabic tones. Stars, that guy is dull.

" _Then kill them both_ ," Bliss orders.

The Virus draws a heavy vibroblade and rushes them while Bliss reaches for his blaster.

She was right, she thinks as she already has her blasters firmly in her hands and ready to fire. She _is_ a quicker draw than him. Before he can so much as bring his blaster up, she pegs his hand with a bolt.

He jumps back and swears. His blaster drops to the ground and Vette shoots him in the foot. Vette 1, Cada Bliss 0.

On the other side of things, there's still the Virus, who is momentarily distracted by the defeat of his employer. The bodyguard eventually seems to decide that it doesn't matter and lunges for them, vibroblade first, brains lagging behind.

Gimrizh steps forward and rips the Kaleesh's blade out of his hand without touching anything but air. Unarmed and relatively harmless, the guard can't do anything but gape. Gimrizh flashes forward inside his guard and snaps her leg up to plant her foot into his jaw with a painful _crack_ of bone.

The bulky guy goes down flat on his back. Vette twirls her blasters and aims at Cada Bliss.

" _Hey hey_!" He scrambles up, blood dripping from his hand and foot, " _L_ _et's not get all crazy here! Clearly, I must have thought you were someone else. See, there was this other Twi'lek girl, total pain, you know, kept calling me - long story, but clearly this is just a mix up, right? I'm sure we can still do business!_ "

Vette pretends to think on it, "You mean the Twi'lek girl to whom you fed false information about a job on Korriban and intentionally gave a false ID card that was flagged by Imperial Intelligence so that she'd be caught by Imperial security and bunch of _krething Sith?"_

" _Ah shit_ ," Cada Bliss swears.

She puts her hands on her hips and frowns down at him. Damn, she gets why Gimrizh does the whole intimidation thing. It's kind of a power trip. "Cada Bliss! You have exploited my people, stolen our artifacts, and -"

" _Yeah we get it_ ," he interrupts her, " _You practiced, it's a nice speech_."

"Return the Star of Kala'unn," she demands, "promise to change your ways, and I _might_ show you mercy."

He seizes the opportunity like the criminal scum he is, " _You are a generous, beautiful woman, I've always said that Twi'lek women are the finest_ -" Vette ups the hatred of her glare, "- _yeah okay I'm going._ "

Cada Bliss abandons the case and scrambles back away from them, seeking refuge on one of the shuttles in the far reaches of the hangar bay.

"I'll grab the Star of Kala'unn," Vette volunteers, reaching for the metal case, "We'll meet up with them in an old rendezvous point and they'll make sure this ends up in a museum. In _Twi'lek_ hands."

Gimrizh cracks her knuckles, "I was hoping for more of a challenge."

The case taps lightly against her calf as they make their way out of the docking platform and into the main halls of the spaceport. "I'd rather have an easy fight than one I can't win," Vette says, although she does kinda miss the adrenaline and energy of a decent shootout.

"Very true," Gimrizh agrees, "But I know how you've been itching for a good fight."

Damn that girl knows her like the back of her hand, "Are you talking about you or me?" Vette jokes to avoid how spot on that comment had been. “What do Sith say? A bloodbath a day keeps the medic away?”

Gimrizh gives her a look that says she's not buying it for a second but then changes the topic, "This _gang_ of yours. What should I expect from them?"

"Oh, you think _I_ am bad about trying to get you drunk?" Vette grins, "These guys will have you hammered out of your mind and sobbing your life's story before you even know what hits you."

"I've had quite enough of that lately," her friend comments absently, but oh man does it entice Vette like a piece of meat dangled in front of a nexu's nose, "I'll make sure to take your warning to heart."

Vette steps out onto the veranda that wraps around the edge of the spaceport and signals for a taxi.

" _Where_ exactly are we meeting this gang?" Gimrizh asks as a pilot droid pulls a speeder up in front of them and Vette inputs a destination on the terminal.

Eh. Let's make it a mystery. "You'll have to see when we get there," Vette says mysteriously, waggling her eyebrows at her friend. She just laughs when Gimrizh tries to glare the answer out of her and keeps laughing as they step into the cab. The whole ‘I am a Sith, fear me’ thing has kind of worn off due to prolonged exposure. And that pink sweater helped. She hasn’t seen it since, which means Gimrizh has probably tossed it in a trash compactor, but man was it worth the handful of credits she paid for it.

"The Promenade?" Gimrizh asks suspiciously as they pull up alongside the massive, hovering, skyborn, spacescraper complex.

"You got it!" Vette confirms.

The taxi pulls up to a busy drop off point and lets them disembark after Vette tosses a credit chip at the pilot droid. The Promenade is bustling with people at this time of day. Massive groups of all sorts are million about, shopping or boozing or being entertained on one of the many pleasure barges moored alongside the docks. Even though she knows her gang are probably already at the meeting point, she can't help but let her eyes dart around in hopes of catching glimpse of a familiar pair of lekku.

There's a skip in her step and her pulse bounces in her throat. Ignoring the 'sorry, closed' sign, she struts into the familiar cantina like a champion returning from the stage of a coliseum.

The place is shut to the public today and had been turned into a private venue for them. It's a smaller cantina as it is, so the size is perfect for the six of them. Darun is wiping down glasses and three Twi'leks are lounging on stools at the counter. She spots the bright red of Taunt's skin, hear Plasmajack's deep laugh, smell the brain-destroying sharpness of Flash's ship engine distilled vodka.

"Surprise!" Vette grins with a solid helping of charm and panache, drawing every eye in the cantina, "It's everyone's favorite Twi'lek!"

"Vette!" Taunt leaps to her feet and envelops her in a heart warming, bone crushing, hug. She pulls back to beam at Vette, "Look who the akk dog dragged in!"

Flash smiles that twitchy smile of his, "Good to see your dumb face."

With a laugh, Vette slides over to the bar to punch him in the shoulder, "Good to see your ugly one."

Plasmajack laughs and gives Vette an enthusiastic fist bump. " _Missed you a bunch,"_ he adds, still forgoing Basic as part of his pride in his Ryloth heritage. She's missed the sounds of her own language, spoken as something to be proud of, rather than something rich men consider 'exotic'.

" _How could I stay away_?" She joins in, smiling at the guy, before glancing over to the rest of them, "So you all got my message from our short friend?"

Darun looks less pleased than he had been a second ago, "Seriously? I throw you all a private bash and you're still on the short thing? What's a Togruta got to do around these parts to get some respect?"

"Lose one of your montrals," Taunt teases, "Then you could pass as a Twi'lek!"

The bartender snorts, "You guys are a barrel of crazy nexus." He grabs a bunch of glasses and fills them up with a particularly nice microbrew beer, "Why do I put up with you guys anyways?"

"You secretly love us," Vette reminds him. She takes a sip and then wipes the foam off her lips. So much better tasting with a bunch of friends.

Flash jerks his head towards Gimrizh, who's still hovering by the door with a surprisingly awkward look, "Who's the girl?"

Vette waves Gimrizh over. The Zabrak sighs and then takes the remaining bar seat, seeming rather out of place. Not like she doesn't belong, but like she's unsure if she _should_ belong, "Pleasure to meet old friends of Vette."

"Oh fuck," Darun gapes and glances between Vette and Gimrizh, "You're the Sith?"

Gimrizh nods stiffly, "Is this a regrettable revelation?"

Taunt shrugs and passes over the next mug of beer, "Nah. We've heard good things. Only Vette would find a sweetheart Sith to tag along with."

"I'm _hardly_ anyone's sweetheart," Gimrizh says dryly, "I like to think I'm a bit too sour for that sort of thing."

This cracks up Taunt and she slaps Gimrizh on the back, who flinches. "I like you. Vette has good taste."

Vette takes a deep sip of her beer, "That's what I tell people."

"So," Flash says, wrapping his hands around his mug and eyeing the case Vette has on the table, "Shall we talk business?"

"The Star of Kala'unn is in the case. Authentic, and undamaged," she tells them. She lovingly runs a hand over the top of the case before cracking open the lock and letting everyone have a look. An appreciative hush falls over their group. The stunning jewel rests in a cradle of velvet. It’s a beautiful opalescent gem that’s been engraved over thousands of years as each owner or jeweler left behind a maker’s mark on the surface. The names and marks of people long dead shine on it, a visual representation of Ryloth history.

“ _This is big_ ,” Plasmajack whistles, awed by the majesty of what they’ve recovered.

Flash nods along, “Got that right. Most important blow for Twi’lek pride,” he nudges Taunt who nudges Vette, “All you, Vette.”

Even though she tries to maintain her cool, Vette can feel a flush of heat rise into her cheeks.

“ _Amazing_ ,” Plasmajack says again, “ _Really amazing work, Vette. Right, who’s got the finder’s fee?_ ”

Taunt reaches into her pockets and pulls out a substantial stack of credits, “Here. It’s every credit we could scrape together. Don’t worry, we should be able to sweet talk the museum into giving us some of that back.”

No way is she taking their credits. Not for this. She’s not some _bounty hunter_ who does this for money, this is more important than a bunch of credits. This is about Ryloth, about Twi’leks about who she is and what she is. Money cheapens that. It turns this into a job instead of her duty to her people. "Oh no," she turns them down, "I know you guys. You won't even be _eating_ , you have to buy equipment, bribe fees - we don't need your credits," she glances over at Gimrizh, "Do we?"

Gimrizh shakes her head, "You all are doing good work here. Reinvest the money in something worthwhile."

"Really not what I expected from a Sith," Taunt says thoughtfully, "Must be Vette's influence. She's a beacon of joy to be around, ain't she?"

"I'm mostly not horrible," Vette says with a laugh, giving a teasing tug on one of Taunt's lekku. She smiles at them with all of her heart, even through the teasing and joking, it's been so good to see them again, "I missed you guys. I'll keep in touch, okay?"

"We'll keep our comms open," Flash agrees, "Keep an eye on the holonet for you."

Darun refills the glasses and brings out a bottle of Vette's favorite whiskey, "You all are too serious. This is supposed to be a party, isn't it? I'm sure you can be somber and say heartfelt goodbyes later."

"Damn straight!" Vette agrees, raising her glass along with the rest of the party, "Here here!"

~*~

Malavai makes his way through the city of Jiguuna. This entire planet is an abhorrent place to be in. Thick clouds of smog from the Hutt’s spice refineries and strip-mining operations cloak the planet in dust and grey air. Even though Jiguuna is a haven for Hutts and criminals of all sorts, it has no sort of refined infrastructure or central government. The only real authority on this planet are the Hutts, and it’s abundantly clear that they haven’t a care for the people who live here or even the place itself. This is technically a city, but it’s still a hot humid swamp filled with criminals and lowlifes.

The Empire’s reach onto this planet is thin and tenuous. A number of trade agreements with the Hutt Cartel are all that technically allow the Empire to step off Hutta’s moons and onto the main planet. The recent support of Nem’ro the Hutt is still shaky and unstable, and the Empire knows better than to take the word of a Hutt without further proof. Even so, there is a steady enough stream of Imperials frequenting Jiguuna to allow Malavai to enter unnoticed.

He double checks his datapad. He’s in the right place. Voloren’s supposedly been funding a guerilla anti-Imperial resistance group in the city, but the good thing about groups like that is that they get noticed. And in a place like Jiguuna, it’s easy for Malavai to exchange credits for the information he needs.

The streets of the city are constantly embroiled  in a Hutt turf war, another blessing, as it’s so easy for him to remain unobtrusive when two gangsters are busy beating each other up and drawing a crowd. It’s no wonder that the Hutt Cartel has always remained a secondary player in the greater galactic conflicts when compared to the Empire and the Republic. They lack organization and centralization. So much of their efforts are focused towards backstabbing their own people and petty squabbles between individual Hutts. Their Cartel is made up of thugs and criminals who turn on each other without a second thought. Case in point, the informant who flagged Voloren on the holonet in exchange for a handful of unmarked credits.

There’s a guard smoking a death stick sitting on a crate outside of the hut where Voloren is supposedly hiding out. How distasteful.

At least it makes his job easy. The guard is obviously well acquainted with the strong spice and the stick is almost burned out. His posture is slumped and dazed, his blaster held in loose hands, his eyes inattentive. Malavai walks up to him and puts a vibroblade through his throat without any struggle. Quiet, no noise, none of the notice a blaster gives.

The vibroblade is wiped clean and slide back into its sheath on his forearm in a second, just in time for him to catch the body before it smacks into the wall and then lower the corpse into the swampy ground so as not to alert Voloren. His banishment to Balmorra gave that Republic scum ten years to run and hide. He refuses to give another second of warning.

There’s a lock on the door. Of course there’s a lock on the door.

With a sigh, he examines the mechanism, prying open the front durasteel covering to expose the wiring. It’s rigged up to the door panel, but it’s an old model, easily ruined. He rewires the controls and watches as it fizzles out.

He steps into the foyer, shoots the next guard point blank, and then continues inside the safe house.

This place is relatively unguarded for a safe house, and he only has to stab one more gangster before heading, unhindered, into the command room.

A man is hunched over a communications array, his back to Malavai and his ear to the comm set. He must hear Malavai come in but he just waves him in, apparently expecting someone else, “Just leave the scanner on the table, yeah? I’ll send the blaster boys over to Fa’athra’s turf with you in a minute.”

Malavai strides up to the table and puts his blaster to the side of the man’s head, “Hello Voloren.”

He can see the whites of Voloren’s eyes as the man slowly turns around. There’s a moment of confusion followed quickly by recognition, “Well well,” Voloren comments after a moment, “Lieutenant Malavai Quinn. Last I heard you were off getting court-martialed. I thought you were off my back for good after Druckenwell. What’s a worm like you doing crawling out of the woodwork?”

No, he still hates the man just as much as ever. Good to know. He keeps his face still as he corrects, “Captain.”

“What?” Voloren frowns.

“It’s _Captain_ Malavai Quinn,” he clarifies sharply, “Not Lieutenant.”

“Ah,” Voloren says slowly, “That explains some things. I’d congratulate you on the promotion, but I hate your guts.”

“The feeling is mutual, I assure you,” Malavai notices Voloren’s hand slowly reaching across the table towards a blaster. That’s not going to happen.

Before Voloren can so much as lay a finger on the trigger, Malavai has a vibroblade drawn and sinks it into his hand, pinning it to the table. The handle is still sticking out of his hand, but the rest of the metal blade is buried in flesh and wood.

Voloren gasps in pain, “You son of a-” he tries to grab the handle and pull out the blade.

“I’d advise against that,” Malavai says, pressing the barrel of his blaster into Voloren’s forehead, “And don’t try and pick up the blaster again, or else you’ll lose the use of both hands.”

A bead of sweat trickles down Voloren’s face, “So,” he gulps, trying to maintain what little dignity he has left, “What happens now? You finally tracked me down, congratulations, here I am. Gonna bring me in for questioning? Try to torture information out of me? You know that’ll never work, the SIS trains in resisting interrogation. This the part where I make another daring escape and you waste ten years hunting me down?”

“No,” Malavai says smugly, “This is the part where I kill you.”

"You Imperials, no fun at all," Voloren sighs and gives one final look around the room, checking for any means of escape. There aren't any, Malavai's made sure of that. "Well. I've had a good run."

Malavai's fingers tighten around the handle of his blaster. He's always hated Voloren's careless attitude, the lack of care, and how despite that flaw he still manages to be a very successful agent of the Republic. At least when he's gone, the SIS will be down one skilled agent. "Any last words?"

"I'm good," Voloren shrugs, "Spent my life serving the Republic - not a bad way to live. We'll win against the Empire in the end, and that's all that matters to me."

How presumptuous, "No. You won't."

Malavai shoots him in the head.

There's the noise, the flash of light, and then Voloren falls over to slump lifeless let in his chair, a smoking and charred hole in the side of his head. He takes a deep breath and holsters his blaster. The vibroblade gets cleaned off and the room checked for any useful information. There’s nothing much of interest here that he can take back to the Empire. Whatever little side project Voloren had been working on on Hutta will die with him, there’s nothing Malavai need do here.

As he leaves the room, he glances back at Voloren’s dead body. It feels satisfying. He spent so long chasing that SIS bastard down, knowing that he was out there and actively working to subvert the Empire, that now that he’s dead, it’s actually a relief. Like finishing a chapter of a holonovel.

He departs Jiguuna rather quickly, because despite being friendly to the Empire, he doesn’t know if any of Voloren’s friends are going to get any ideas once they discover the body.

There are shuttles going between the spaceports on Hutta and Nar Shaddaa every few minutes, a heavy traffic flow of people travelling between the planets and its busiest moon. He pays for a seat on the next military shuttle and is soon back in space, likely before anyone has discovered Voloren’s death.

As the shuttle coasts towards the Mezenti Spaceport, Malavai pulls out his datapad and submits a report to the Military Sphere that flags Voloren as dead and his operations disbanded. That’s strange. There’s something on _Horizon’s_ main channel. That communication channel shouldn’t be in use right now, not unless Lord Baras is transmitting a message, which clearly isn’t the case as there’s a blocked sender identification.

Someone’s sending them a message who doesn’t want to be found.

~*~

Gimrizh practically drags a still-tipsy Vette back to _Horizon_ as soon as she gets Quinn’s holo. There are a limited number of possibilities as to who could be contacting them through a blocked frequency. She _knows_ Quorian Dorjis isn’t enough of a fool to try and holo her on her ship, and that rules out Tremel by association. It could be that cursed Jedi from Alderaan, although she doubts it. He didn’t get her name or Quinn’s, and if he wanted to invest any significant effort in tracking her down, it would take longer than the few days since they departed Alderaan.

Which leaves Nomen Karr. She doesn’t know if the man would try and call her after they exchanged unproductive words during her attack on the transmitter station, but he might think it necessary after her hunt for his apprentice’s identity.

 _Or_ , she thinks, scrambling up _Horizon_ ’s gangplank, _it could be the apprentice herself_.

Maybe Jaesa Willsaam got her message and decided to step into the arena. For a while now, Gimrizh has been thinking that it’s time for her to talk face to face with her quarry. Her message through Yonlach had only been the beginning.

She barges into the communication room and stands next to Quinn, who’s pulling up the message on the holo. “Were you able to track the signal?” she asks.

“I regret to inform you that I was not, my lord,” Quinn reluctantly admits, “It’s a recorded transmission, there wasn’t an open channel for me to trace.”

“Play it,” she orders.

The holo whirls to life and a flickering blue figure towers in front of them. It’s a young girl, with brown skin and hair, dressed like a Jedi. “Sith,” she speaks, and her voice is calm and steady and yet also _determined_ , “I’m Jaesa Willsaam. My master, Nomen Karr, has no idea I’m sending this message. I heard your words to me through Master Yonlach, and I learned what happened to my parents on Alderaan.”

“Ah, the hunted seeks the hunter,” Quinn muses to himself.

Gimrizh nods absently, focused on the message, “She’s more independent than I thought, to contact me without Karr’s approval.”

The message continues to play, “You were right. This  _isn’t_ about us. Our masters may pretend otherwise, but this is personal. We _are_ just pawns to them and I refuse to let those I care about be caught in the middle. It has to stop.”

“Wow,” Vette whispers appreciatively, “Gotta give it to her - she sure got guts.”

“I appreciate directness,” Jaesa moves on, “And as merciful as your actions have been, it’s time you stopped this passive-aggressive campaign. This message includes coordinates where I’ll be waiting in my ship. Let’s discuss this face-to-face. Our masters think they can attack each other through us, but I’d prefer to speak to you without their interference. No more nonsense, no more hunting down those I care about. No more games.”

The message goes dark and a notice informing them of a data file being transferred pops up - the promised coordinates.

Isn’t this interesting? Gimrizh still stares at the terminal, as though the message will continue even though she knows it won’t. What is Jaesa Willsaam thinking right now? Is this sincere or some new plot? The girl had seemed honest enough in the recording, and Gimrizh can definitely understand her sentiment. “Thoughts?” she asks the two of them.

“It could be a trap, my lord,” Quinn says right away, clearly more suspicious than she is, “Nomen Karr may have put her up to it.”

“Hey, don’t listen to captain paranoid here. I don’t think it’s a trap. I trust her,” Vette confidently declares.

Quinn frowns, almost a scowl, as he points out, “You don’t _know_ her. How can you trust her?”

“She’s just trying to keep the people she cares about safe,” Vette continues, “We’ve been horrible to her and it’s completely understandable that she wants us to stop it. We should trust her!”

That sounds dangerously like Vette is trying to subvert Baras’ goals. Gimrizh tenses up, and bites her lip as she sternly tells Vette, “She is an enemy of Darth Baras. I’ve been, as you put it, ‘horrible’ to her because those are _my orders_. I need you to understand that, Vette. If I trust her as you suggest and go to meet her on her ship, I am not going to let her go peacefully. I will either kill her, or force her to fall to the dark side.”

Vette gapes at her, “Can’t she - I don’t know - join us without that?”

“No,” Gimrizh states firmly, “She must fall, and she must join the Sith.”

“But she’s a good person!” Vette protests, “She doesn’t deserve that!”

Gimrizh glares at her, “Deserve _what_ , Vette?”

It’s a challenge. Vette rises to it, “Becoming Sith! Becoming one of those crazy, insane, torturing nutcases that electrocute people for fun! She’s a good person!”

“You _don’t_ know her,” Gimrizh reminds her flatly, “And if you really think all Sith are like that, then you’re free to leave at any time.”

Her words echo through the ship. Quinn looks outraged by Vette’s statements, but he’s wisely staying out of the argument. This is Gimrizh’s fight, and he knows it. Vette’s shoulders are shaking as she stares down Gimrizh.

“She doesn’t deserve any of this,” Vette insists, “She’s just a kid, and we’re destroying her life.”

What an absurd thing to say, “She’s not a child.”

“How old is she?” Vette demands, crossing her arms and refusing to look away.

“Twenty-one,” She says and the words fall quietly from her lips.

“She’s too young,” Vette says from the high standing of a nineteen year old, commenting both on herself and on the Jedi apprentice at the same time, “She’s still a kid, and she shouldn’t be forced to fight in some war between Nomen Karr and Baras.”

Gimrizh clenches her hands at her sides, “She’s the same age as me.”

“Then you’re too young too,” Vette says, not backing down, “You’re too young, she’s too young, hells, I’m too young. The only person here who’s old enough to be in this damn war is Quinn - and how old were you when you joined the military?”

Quinn seems taken aback by being addressed so rudely, “I was eighteen when I entered the Navy.”

“You were too young then too,” she states firmly.

“This isn’t our problem, Vette,” Gimrizh replies sharply, “Regardless of what you might think about Jaesa Willsaam’s age, force users are never children. She’s in this war, and I cannot be _merciful_ to an enemy. If you are so set against this, I won’t force you to stay.”

Vette doesn’t back down, “No. I’m not leaving. You need someone to tell you when you’re wrong, and _you are wrong_. I’m not saying let Jaesa Willsaam go, or start singing camp songs with a bunch of Jedi. I’m just saying you need to think about what you’re going to do to that young girl and why.”

Her bit said, Vette turns on her heel and stalks into her quarters, slamming the door and letting the noise ring behind her.

“...Am I wrong?” Gimrizh asks, staring at the door that Vette just closed. She knows that she’s relatively young, and unused to command, but she’s not _too_ young, as Vette insists. She’s old enough to fight in this war, and so is Jaesa Willsaam. And if the padawan is old enough to fight, then she’s old enough to fall.

“You’re following Lord Baras’ orders, my lord,” Quinn reassures her.

She is. But she doesn’t know if that’s right or wrong. She hasn’t thought about it before, it isn’t something that she considers important. What does it matter if she’s doing the right thing if she’s staying alive? If she keeps her head down and follows orders then she survives, and isn’t that the right thing to do?

It doesn’t matter. She has to do what Baras tells her, and in this case that means Jaesa Willsaam must fall. Everything else is irrelevant. “Plug the coordinates into the nav computer. I’m going to talk to Jaesa Willsaam.”

~*~

“Pulling out of hyperspace now, my lord,” Quinn says as _Horizon_ slows from its breakneck speeds and the stars gain clarity.

Gimrizh fumbles to engage the sublight engines. Damn it, she wishes Vette would stop sulking in her quarters and come help fly this ship. Whatever she might have said earlier, she’s not the best pilot around, and even just co-piloting is tricky for her. They pull out of hyperspace just as smooth as usual though, something she attributes more to Quinn’s skills than her having any semblance of ability when it comes to flying.

A ship pulls into sight through the viewport. It’s a Republic cruiser, likely a personnel carrier and not heavily armed. Whatever trap this might be, they can’t be planning on shooting _Horizon_ out of the sky. The ship certainly doesn’t have enough firepower for that.

She rests her hands lightly on her lightsaber hilts. There’s the heavy metal blade from the tomb on Korriban and the lighter blade from Quorian Dorjis. The latter has yet to be used in combat, and she’s actually somewhat looking forward to trying out both sabers at once. She learned the basics of dual wielding in the Institute, but she’s never studied it much since then. It’ll be an experiment, perhaps.

“Get us on board,” she tells Quinn, standing up from the terminal, “I’ll go and drag Vette out.”

He sighs and tries to push the frown off his face, “Is Vette really necessary, my lord?”

She gives him a look, "I know you two don't like each other, but she's good with a blaster and we're probably walking into a trap. Overconfidence gets people killed."

"As you say, my lord," he reluctantly agrees.

She leaves the bridge as _Horizon_ approaches the enemy ship and makes her way towards Vette's quarters. The door is still shut, and so she knocks politely a couple of times.

On the second knock, Vette yanks the door open. She still looks angry, but more tired and annoyed. "Yeah?" she asks, leaning against the hatch and picking at her nails, "I didn't think you really wanted to continue our little talk."

"We're about to dock," Gimrizh informs her, "I'll likely need your help during the fight."

Vette gives a long and drawn out sigh, "Yeah, okay. Look," she hesitates and then actually stares at Gimrizh, "It's not about you okay? You're pretty alright for a Sith, but I've met other Sith too and they aren't nice."

Gimrizh tightens up, like a lid being shut inside, "Yes, you've informed me that I am, I believe, 'the nicest'," she says sarcastically, "But by all means, keep complimenting me, I enjoy an overinflated ego."

"I _said_ this isn't about you," Vette replies, deflecting the attempt to change the conversation, "You're a half-decent person on occasion. But if you try and destroy that girl - she won't be. She'll become another one of those crazy nut job Sith, and, to be honest, the galaxy has enough of those as it is. She seems like a good person. Why do we have to ruin that?"

It's not like she doesn't see Vette's point. She _does_. "This is war, even if there's still a treaty. There's no room for good people, or even half-decent ones. I have my orders. You _know_ what Baras will do to me if I don't fulfill them. If there's some way that I can convert Jaesa Willsaam to the Sith without turning her to the dark side, then fine. I'm all ears. But I don't have any ideas and neither do you."

"You could at least think about it," Vette stresses.

"I've thought about it," Gimrizh snaps, "I'm not dying for a wishful ideal. Now, get your blasters ready and prepare to spring this damn trap. You can talk to Willsaam yourself if it matters so much to you."

Vette reaches back it to her quarters to grab her blasters and holster them, "For a half-decent person, you can be a real sleemo sometimes," she tosses over her shoulder as she works.

"That'd be the 'half' part of 'half-decent'," Gimrizh retorts.

There's a shudder through the walls of the ship as they slide into the airlock. Showtime

She glances back at Vette to make sure the Twi'lek is following as she heads to the main hatch. Quinn, coming from the direction of the bridge, joins them there.

"Right," Gimrizh pushes the unlocking button and stands back as the large doors slide open with the hiss of air depressurizing. "Let's go."

They step onto the decks of the unfamiliar ship. The airlock is large enough to accommodate a massive boarding party, and there's a neatly decorated hall up ahead. This ship isn't a warship, it's a cruiser, so it would be designed to match a civilians sensibilities. That means the center of the ship would be some sort of main hall for large congregations of people, and the the bridge or communication rooms would be placed to the far edges of the ship, the opposite of how most warships or freighters are designed, and the opposite of _Horizon_.

When she steps into the hall, she can hear engines whirring to her left, which means the engine rooms are that way. She doesn't want to go aftwards, she wants to go forward the heart of the ship. She turns right at the hall, and almost immediately runs into a massive bulkhead wall.

"Maybe they don't want visitors?" Vette jokes as she slices into the control panel and releases the wall.

It takes a moment, but then the bulkhead slides open and allows them entrance. Gimrizh was right, the room is a huge and spacious hall, with a large number of light fixtures and plush carpeting. Two people are standing at the end and both are wearing the loose robes of Jedi and carrying lightsabers at their waists.

"Trap," she mutters to herself. So much for Jaesa Willsaam's promises and pretty words. "Stay back, don't engage until I do," she instructs Vette and Quinn. She doesn't want this fight getting messy, hells, she's hoping they can avoid a fight altogether. Going up against two Jedi, at the same time. Not something she feels like doing today or indeed, ever.

Thankfully her two companions obey without hesitation and guard her back as she approaches the Jedi.

The younger one looks almost gleeful when she steps up to face them, "Well, well. We're going to have to thank Nomen Karr after all. The Sith showed."

"Pleasure to meet you," Gimrizh says tersely.

"Stand down, Sith," the older and taller one orders. He looks to be the wiser of the two, and certainly less enthusiastic than his younger companion. "The padawan you seek is not here. Master Karr discovered her plans and talked her out of it."

The younger one smirks, "It's _not_ your day. You were expecting one lowly little padawan to crush and instead you get us."

"I knew it wouldn't be that easy," Gimrizh says with a shrug. The fact that she was walking into a trap was pretty obvious.

"Just like a Sith," the younger comments with a sneer, "Always looking for a shortcut."

"I'm Ulldin," says the elder. He gestures to his fellow Jedi, "This is Zylixx. We are fully trained Jedi knights and more than your match. You should submit."

"Of course," Zylixx says as he looks her up and down, "We've yet to encounter a Sith with the sense to surrender. You all seem hell bent on having us destroy you. We're not complaining, it certainly makes our job easier, but the lot of you don't seem to be particularly clever."

She raises an eyebrow scathingly at him, "Admit it," she drawls, "You'd be disappointed if I gave up."

Ulldin shakes his head slowly, "Not at all. We don't go around picking fights."

"I wouldn't trust it if the Sith does surrender," Zylixx adds, "I prefer the sureness of death.

There's her opening. Thank you, you two idiot Jedi, for revealing the obvious flaw in your order's code. So easy for her to take advantage of it, "True Jedi don't attack to kill," she states with certainty, "Your light side demands temperance."

Zylixx flushes with anger, "Who are you to lecture about the light side? The Sith are the ones who force us to take measures like this! Your vile attempts to hurt Nomen Karr and Jaesa Willsaam are provocation enough!"

"You're rationalizing," Gimrizh tells him, "You're desperate to justify yourself. In truth, you don't know my reasons for coming here and I haven't been the one itching to start a fight. You _are_. So much for the peaceful ways of the Jedi."

He glares at her, "That's enough out of you! Ulldin, let's end this."

The older Jedi hesitates - good. She's getting to them, "No, Zylixx. I am unsure. Nomen Karr claims this Sith means Jaesa harm, but there's no proof."

"Master Karr's word is proof enough," Zylixx insists, "I have no crisis of conscience assuming his assessment is sound."

Gimrizh coolly turns to the other Jedi, careful to keep her hands away from her lightsabers and her expression unguarded, "And you?"

He turns away from them, hands clasped behind his back, "That's an assumption I cannot make," he says at last, "I will not engage. The Jedi Code demands that I must walk away and so I shall. I urge the both of you to do the same."

One down. Gimrizh smirks at Ulldin's back as he steps out of the room.

Once he is gone, Zylixx rounds on her again, a snarl on his lips, "You may have derailed Ulldin's resolve, but your luck ends here. I'll take you on myself!"

He's arrogant. She still has Quinn and Vette to back her up, but his only ally has abandoned him to his fate. Truly, the Jedi Order is full of idiots. "You're going to regret that," she says lightly.

"Enough!" He yells and snaps out a bright green lightsaber, raising the blade up to strike. It's not quick enough.

Gimrizh ignites both her blades, the bright red clashing with the startling blue of Quorian Dorjis' saber. On her mark, both Quinn and Vette open fire on the Jedi.

Zylixx is suddenly on the defensive, stepping back to deflect the numerous bolts with his saber. She leaps at him, blades whirling and flashing as she slices at him.

He's decent enough to block and dodge both her blades and the bolts, but not good enough.

It's over in a matter of moments.

Gimrizh leans backwards as his blade slices through the air above her head and then she twists. Her blue saber cuts through his sword hand and both his weapon and his hand clatter to the ground.

He collapses and clutches his burnt stump of a wrist, trying to keep a cry of pain from escaping.

Gimrizh kicks his saber to the side and steps forward, crossing her blades across his neck. The blue and red clash as they meet, almost a purple where the beams cross, "So overconfident," she tells him, repeating what she told Quinn a scant few minutes ago, "Overconfidence gets people killed."

"I yield!" He bites out, "Damn Ulldin for leaving me to die! This is all his fault."

The lightsabers don't waver, "The result would have been the same."

"Your strength is... undeniable," he mutters, "Is there such power in the dark side?"

She deactivated her sabers and turns away. This confrontation is over, "I leave you to ponder your future."

"Damn you, Sith," he says between gritted teeth. He sounds like he's about to pass out from the pain of his absent hand. Good. He deserves it. She has no sympathy for Jedi. Especially not Jedi who attempt to kill her. Watching him clutch that stump of a wrist and try not to collapse is a nice bonus after defeating him.

Gimrizh strides out of the hall, "Let's go. We'll get nothing out of these Jedi."

"Wouldn't they know of Jaesa Willsaam's whereabouts?" Quinn asks as he and Vette follow her back to the airlock.

"No," she shakes her head as she thinks about it, "Nomen Karr is determined to keep her safe. He wouldn't tell two Jedi lackeys of his where his prized apprentice is hiding. They know nothing and there's no point in wasting time here."

Vette cheers half-heartedly. She opens the airlock for them and is the first one whose feet touch the durasteel decks of _Horizon_ , “I always support no torturing,” she says, a touch too serious to be a joke, “So, do we have our typical after-fight party where I try to get you drunk and you try and be a sourpuss?”

“You have all that planned out?” Gimrizh groans, “And no, to both options.”

“No fun at _all,_ ” Vette pouts, entering the communications room and flopping down on the couch.

Gimrizh drops her lightsaber belt next to Vette and starts to work the holo terminal, “Quinn, Vette, get us away from this ship as soon as you can. If there’s a neutral spaceport nearby, then dock there and refuel _Horizon_ , if not, just make sure we’re out of Republic space. I’m going to holo Baras and inform him of this little confrontation.”

There’s a bit of groaning from Vette but the two head off to the bridge and within moments Gimrizh can feel _Horizon_ detach from the ship’s airlock and head out into open space.

She takes a deep breath and calls Baras. The call picks up almost as soon as she makes the connection, which makes her think that Baras was either waiting for her to call, or he has news for her. A mix of dread and anticipation fills her as Baras’ figure fills the holo projector, “My master,” she greets with her head bowed.

“Apprentice,” he acknowledges, and then immediately confirms her suspicions, “The timing of this call is fortuitous, I was just about to contact you with news.”

If she doesn’t tell him about Jaesa’s message, he’ll find out eventually and she’ll regret hiding it from him, “I have news of my own. Jaesa Willsaam bade me meet with her, so I went to end this. But two of Karr’s Jedi _associates_ were waiting instead. I confronted and defeated them, but they provided me with no useful information and a dead end in regards to the apprentices’ whereabouts.”

Baras’s voice sounds amused by all this, which doesn’t surprise her. She’s noticed a tendency for him to act as though her troubles do not bother him, and that he is above all of this petty fighting. Her impression of him as a master manipulator is close to the bullseye then. He sits in the center of his web, pulling on strings to get his way without ever stepping down from such lofty heights to do his own dirty work. That’s _her_ job, apparently, “Fascinating,” he remarks, “It seems both master and padawan have been disturbed by your exploits.”

Both Karr and Willsaam? And yet Gimrizh only mentioned one so that means the news Baras has must pertain to Nomen Karr, “You have new information on Nomen Karr?” she asks, testing her suspicion.

“That is correct, my overzealous apprentice,” he says lightly, but it’s a steel fist gloved in velvet. She can’t overstep her bounds with him, “I have received a transmission from the master himself - calling me out, if you will. Challenging me to face him to the death. Our enemy has become desperate.”

There’s no way he would call her just to inform her that he’s about to duel Karr. If he was truly going to fight the man, then he’d call her afterwards with news of his victory. He would not want to brag prematurely. So, therefore, he’s planning something that involves her. Does he want her to sabotage this fight? Assassinate Karr after Baras weakens the man? She hates playing these games with Baras. It’s like playing sabacc in a dark room, for infinite stakes, with a dealer who refuses to say who’s winning and who keeps smiling like they know something you don’t. The guessing and second guessing of it all infuriates her.

“He must have lost his mind,” she comments when it becomes clear Baras is waiting for her to make some sort of remark.

“Your efforts to disrupt his precious padawan have unnerved him,” Baras agrees, “He seeks to turn the tide. Karr fails to understand that I have outgrown our personal dispute. He expects me to jump at the chance of strangling him. He will be unprepared for you.”

That’s his game. He wants her to fight Karr for him. On one hand, it makes sense. Karr would not be expecting her, and she could perhaps surprise him with that fact. On the other, it’s a ludicrous idea and she wonders if perhaps Baras has decided that she is no longer useful to him. It’s almost a death sentence. Sure, she has fought Jedi before, but Baras himself told her to be wary of Karr and his prowess as a master of the Jedi Order.

Whatever she does, she can’t protest. Baras won’t change his mind and any hesitation on her part will be perceived as both weakness and disloyalty - unacceptable for a Sith apprentice in her position to have. “As you will, master. Just tell me where to go.”

“The duel is to happen on Hutta,” he informs her, “at the sight of Nomen Karr’s betrayal so long ago. A fitting place for this to end. I will send you coordinates. Defeat him, but do not kill him. His torment will reach out to his padawan. He will be the bait that brings her to you. She must be on the verge of breaking now, and Karr’s desperate actions only confirm it. Subdue the master, and the pupil will come to save him. I have forseen it.”

She bows again as the holo closes, “Yes, my master.”

Once the call is disconnected, she slams her fist into the terminal, narrowly avoiding anything important. Her knuckles leave a dent in the metal plating and she turns away to stalk onto the bridge.

Quinn stands to attention as soon as she enters the bridge, “Do we have new orders from Lord Baras, my lord?”

“Yes,” she confirms. She slides into her seat and sags, waving at Quinn to let him know he could stand down. “Nomen Karr contacted Darth Baras while we were dealing with the padawan’s message. He’s challenged Darth Baras to a one on one duel that shall take place on Hutta. And… my esteemed master has decided that I shall be the one to face Karr.”

“What?” Vette bolts upright in her chair, “That’s crazy!”

Even Quinn doesn’t seem happy with this, and she knows that he’ll follow Baras’ orders the same as her. “Are you certain you’ll be alright, my lord? I’m not doubting your skill, but Nomen Karr is a well known enemy and a formidable Jedi Master.”

“I know,” she agrees, “I _know_. I’m not certain I can defeat him either. But both of you know that’s not what matters. My master has given the order, and I have to obey.”

“Of course, my lord,” he replies, still reluctant, still unsure. She’s unsure too. It’s a daunting task. He starts inputting coordinates into the nav computer, “Charting a course to Hutta.”

“Damn,” Vette mutters. She starts up the hyperdrive and glances back over her shoulder at Gimrizh, “When did our lives get so krething insane?”

Gimrizh tries to muster a scathing look but it falls flat due to a nervousness she doesn’t particularly want to admit to, “When we first met, you helped me break into a thousand year old Sith tomb in the middle of the Korriban desert to retrieve an ancient lightsaber from a _corpse_. Our lives have _always_ been insane.”

“That is a very good point,” Vette says slowly.

“We’re ready to enter hyperspace, my lord,” Quinn informs her, his hand on the lever.

She nods, “Do it. Let me know when we arrive. I’m going to… go train. A lot. And maybe pass out for a bit. I’ll see how I feel.”

~*~

Hutta is disgusting. It’s a muggy, humid, bug filled, criminally lenient, swamp with too many Hutts. As much as Gimrizh might have liked it’s more popular moon, the planet itself is distinctly horrible and filthy. They had to dock _Horizon_ at an Imperial station orbiting the planet, which wasn’t bad, and then take a shuttle down, which was alright. But the moment they touched down in the frankly, shitty, city of Jiguuna, she has disliked every single damn second spent on this place. Even having a squad of Imperial soldiers backing them up isn’t much of a plus. The troopers won’t be useful for anything other than prisoner transport, if she ends up taking Jaesa Willsaam alive.

“This planet is disgusting,” she says, trudging through the swampy muck they call ground here.

“Indeed, my lord,” Quinn vehemently agrees, turning his nose up at their surroundings, “It is rather unpleasant.”

Right, and he was on this planet recently, too, “You were here just a couple of days ago,” she comments, almost pitying, “That must be awful. This planet certainly isn’t worth a repeat visit for their scenery, that’s for certain.”

“‘Oh no…” Vette says sarcastically, imitating Gimrizh’s voice and dramatically putting a hand to her forehead like she’s about to swoon, “‘The weather… it’s so awful… I can’t stand it…’ Stars, you two are wimps.”

That’s _not_ funny. She can’t tell because of the helmets, but she thinks the Imperial troopers that follow a ways behind them are very confused by the banter. One of them, the medical officer, she thinks, coughs discreetly behind Vette’s back. “Oh, I’m a wimp?” Gimrizh retorts, “I’m the one who’s about to fight a Jedi Master.”

Vette waves off her protests and explains with a laugh, “There’s a difference. If you lose against Nomen Karr, then that makes your weakness be… well, lightsabers and force attacks. That’s hardcore. As it is now, your weakness is shitty weather. That rates about a negative twenty on the hardcore scale.”

Gimrizh rolls her eyes and says nothing. She knows a losing battle when she sees one, or more accurately, when Vette says it. They do have a lot of swamp to get through, and not a whole lot of time to do it in. The safehouse where Nomen Karr is waiting is at the edge of bog in the remnants of an old mining complex. Right now, they’re making their way through an Evocii workcamp. The troopers they’re with claim that this place is now under Imperial control, but they _would_ say that and she’s paranoid enough to make her way through the camp with one hand firmly on her lightsaber.

It’s not just paranoia. She knows she’s safe from rebelling workers, with a guard of Imperial troopers and Quinn and Vette at her sides. It’s fear. She’s safe now, sure. She’s not going to be safe later.

No matter what Baras claims about her having the element of surprise against Nomen Karr, it doesn’t change the fact that she’s never fought anyone even near the Jedi’s level. Projecting false confidence is easy, but actually having faith in her skills when pitted against a Jedi Master is difficult. She lives her life with her lightsaber in her hand, she relies utterly on her ability to fight and to win. Suddenly having doubt in that ability shakes her and turns her faith to doubt like a rot through her hearts.

And yet, she doesn’t _know_ Nomen Karr. She fears his reputation more than she fears the man himself. Yes, she’s terrified to face him, but she’s afraid of what he’s rumored to be capable of. Not of what she’s _seen_ him do. In a more real, more visceral sense, she’s afraid of Baras. Because he put her in this mess. It’s another painful reminder that she is entirely at his nonexistent mercy. He put her in Karr’s path without a second thought for her safety, and she’s pretty sure that right now he still sees her as having some value to him. What will he do to her when he decides that value has been used up? Drug her and toss her in front of krething Satele Shan as a gift? He’s proven time and again that he only sees his apprentices as pawns for him to play with, not real people that he’s throwing to a pack of rabid nexu.

She’s gripping her lightsaber hilt so tightly that when she pries her fingers off of it, deep red imprints are left on her palm.

Her pace slows down and then stops completely. They’ve reached the edge of the bog and the entrance to Karr’s safehouse.

It’s time.

“Don’t let Karr escape,” she orders the soldiers and follows up with a nod to Quinn and Vette, “Stay outside, and watch out. If Jaesa Willsaam shows up, let her in, but don’t allow entrance to anyone else.”

The soldiers salute her and take up guard positions around the gaping metal hole that is an entrance to this place.

“Good luck, my lord,” Quinn says to her as she leaves them.

She tries to take some of that comfort and wrap it around her like a shield. “Thank you,” she gets out, staring into the dark tunnel ahead, “I suppose I’ll… see you later.”

And then she pushes forward into the safehouse. Which is, for her, ironically the least safe place possible.

The safehouse is lit, small and scattered light fixtures that burn a sickly yellow. It’s like Karr is inviting her in. Stars, he thinks he’s facing _Baras_ and he’s still this confident. Blood drains from her face when she remembers that even her master has never defeated Nomen Karr in combat and he expects her to fight instead. A nearby drop of water, falling from an open pipe startles her so badly that she jumps.

She clenches her fists and mentally slaps herself. So what if Baras has never beaten Karr? Baras is an old, fat man, who’s become far too used to winning a battle before it even begins to be any good in a fight. She shouldn’t be afraid of Karr, she should be _angry_ with him, for assuming to think that he’s better than her. For taking one glance at her and pegging her - accurately perhaps - as nothing more than a pawn for him to play with. Karr is just as bad as Baras, and despite the bitter knowledge that she can never and will never send Baras into the dirt where he belongs, she can damn well do it to Karr.

And besides, she just told Quinn that she’d be back. She can’t die in this fight if she’s going to see them later, now can she? It’s a peculiar feeling. She has people she needs to come back too now. Passion leads to strength, she remembers.

She steps into the main chamber, a low ceilinged room with flame, open flame flickering and casting shadows on the metal walls of the bunker. In front of what looks to be an altar is a man. He’s kneeling in meditation, his back to her. Nomen Karr.

“So,” he says disappointedly, his voice louder than it should be in the empty room, “Baras sends his apprentice instead. I should have known he couldn’t be trusted. I however, am a man of my word. I’m here, alone, as agreed. Your master shows himself a coward, sending you, an apprentice, in his stead.”

 _Karr’s just a man_ , she tells herself, taking a deep breath and imagining that as she exhales she releases all her fear, _just one man plagued with overconfidence._

“He sends me to do all his killing,” she tells Karr lightly.

This at least, seems to get his attention. He stands at last and turns to face her. Before speaking,  he gazes slowly up and down her figure, as though trying to see straight through her into the heart of her. “You are young in the force,” he says to her, trying to intimidate her perhaps, or scold her like a child, “A mere apprentice. I’m a full Jedi Master.”

She draws a thin smirk on her face, like putting on battle armour, “It hardly seems fair for you.”

Karr scoffs, “You are Baras’ pawn - a resourceful one perhaps, but still only that.”

“I know,” she replies honestly, “I _am_ only a pawn of Baras’. Jaesa Willsaam is but a mere pawn as well and you are staking all your hopes on her. What does that say about us pawns then?”

“Less than you imagine,” he says firmly, “Jaesa Willsaam is unlike anyone you have ever encountered. To compare you to her is to compare the snarling akk dog to the mighty dactillion - both may be beasts, but one is clearly superior. I will end you here, and once you are out of our way, Jaesa will provide the proof I need to open the Jedi Council’s eyes and expose Baras’ network of spies.”

“Such lofty goals,” she drawls.

He furrows his brow in anger and then draws his saber, “Enough, I’ll waste no more time with this,” there’s the hiss and snap of energy that her mind pins as _lightsaber_ as he activates a glowing green blade, “This ends now, Sith.”

 _No_ , she thinks,  _this ends for him but not for me_.

She unclips both her sabers and ignites them, the red and blue clashing in the light. “Then let’s end this,” she agrees.

He eyes her sabers as he slowly advances, cautious steps that spiral in towards her, “Blue is not the color of the Sith. Which Jedi did you kill to take it from?”

“Sorry,” she flips her lightsabers over in her hands, “I’ll tell you who gave me this saber when you tell me where Jaesa Willsaam is. And we both know neither of those things are going to happen. So shut up and _fight_.”

“Very well,” Karr says between gritted teeth.

And then he runs forward. Gimrizh just has time to think, _fuck, he’s fast_ , before his saber is slamming into her red one. He’s strong too.

She uses both blades to push him back and throw him off her. Falling low to the ground, she moves into a sweeping strike aimed for his legs, her blades held in a reverse grip and flashing out to cut his knees out from under him. Karr avoids her by tumbling nimby through the air and over her head, landing behind her. He immediately stabs at her unprotected back, trying to catch her off guard.

His saber hits the ground with a screech of the energy beam burning the metal floor instead. She had thrown herself forward and rolled to avoid. Coming up from her tumble and crouching in a low wide stance, she kicks off the ground and heads for him with the force of blaster bolt.

Although he blocks her first strike by shoving her blade to the side, he quickly reigns his saber back in closer to his body, keeping his defenses to tightly controlled twists of his wrist that deflect her attacks. In contrast, she slashes at him with careless fury, flipping her blades from reverse grip to forward and back to reverse as openings appear. She whirls around in a circle to build up momentum and then releases it with a clash of blades, her sabers slamming into his one after the other, over and over as she keeps attacking.

It’s a moment that stretches on into an infinity of attacks, her arms jarring from constant impact and her hearts pounding blood through her body. But she wins this bout. Her blue saber breaks through Karr’s defenses to paint a wide red stripe across his upper right arm.

Karr pulls back, apparently undeterred by the pain. And then it turns into an entirely different sort of battle.

Reaching out with his hand, he sends the two vases filled with candlefire behind her to hurdle towards her back.

Shit. If she lets that touch her, she’ll be burned badly. She backflips over them a second before they fly through the space she was previously occupying. Both head for Nomen Karr instead now, and he sends them crashing harmlessly to his sides with a flick of his lightsaber. As he’s distracted defending from his own attack, she throws her red saber at his head.

Spotting it just in time, he ducks and let it slice into the wall behind him before she calls it back to her hand. Karr raises his hands and she can feel the pull on the force. She darts her eyes around the room to check for anything else he might throw at her. It’s relatively bare, besides the remains of the two burners, there’s no furniture and nothing on the walls besides light fixtures and control panels. She could maybe use the ruined burners like she had against Yonlach, but that takes a concentration that she’s uncertain she’ll be able to get in this fight. There’s nothing Karr could be trying to throw at her, so what’s he _doing_?

She hears it before she sees it. There’s a creak and groan of metal and a huge durasteel beam is falling from the ceiling to crush her.

Ignoring the urge to hack it to bits, she reaches out with the force and catches it before it can turn her into a bloody smear. She holds it above her head with an ease that surprises her. It doesn’t have the weight that she’d expect from something so large and heavy. It’s just as light as anything else is when floated through the air on the force.

Karr’s eyes widen as she takes his weapon and launches it right back at him like tossing a stone.

It’s his turn to resort to his lightsaber. He slashes the beam in half and sends the two chunks of metal crashing into the wall. “The force is…” he says, panting with the effort, “... strong with you. I must dig _deeper_.”

“Stand down, Karr,” she orders, thinking of Baras’ instructions to leave Karr alive for Willsaam to feel his suffering.

“Never!” he snarls, rushing forward to lock blades with her.

They slash and hack at each other again, blinding sparks shooting from their sabers as they exchange blows. But it’s different this time. Karr is less focused, less calm. His saber catches between the valley of her two blades, and as he presses down on her she can feel the tendrils of the dark side snatch out at him and sneak into his presence. She can feel anger, hatred, jealousy, _rage_ from him and it’s almost shocking in how unexpected it is. Is the famed war hero of a Jedi Master actually _falling_?

She slashes with her blades to push his saber to the side and plants a heavy kick to his torso. He staggers backwards, face contorted with anger. Oh stars, he _is_. Because of her. “You’ve lost,” she  tells him truthfully, watching the rage that marrs his face.  

“No!” Karr commands, clutching his chest with his injured arm and pointing his lightsaber at her. The tip of the blade wavers. He’s shaking. “This isn’t _right_! You must _fall_ to me!”

“Stand down!” she repeats forcefully. He’s losing control rapidly, like watching a speeder crash in slow motion.

He lunges for her, “You must _die!_ ”

She can feel the dark side radiate off of him in powerful waves, filling his body with power. It’s a strength she knows well, but she’s known it her whole life, knows how it ebbs and flows, how to guide it. He’s known it for a few minutes and he’s utterly under its control, like how a man stepping into deep water for the first time doesn’t know how to swim. He’s off balance and she can take him down.

The wild slash of his saber goes over her head. She twists underneath his outstretched arm and stabs her blue saber through his shoulder.

There’s a clatter as his saber falls from his unresponsive fingers and then a scream of uncontrolled pain. Karr falls to the ground, defeated by his own arrogance. “No... “ he cries out, word broken and interspersed with gasps of pain, “It can’t be… I can’t fall to you…” he lifts his head to glare at her with all the fury of a mad fallen Jedi, “I die knowing Baras will fail and none of you will ever find Jaesa Willsaam.”

“Oh no,” she says, deactivating her lightsabers, “I’m not killing you yet.”

His eyes widen till she can see the red of the dark side bleed into his brown irises as he understands the implication of what she’s saying. Before he can do anything further, she steps forward and slams the hilt of her saber into his temples.

Karr hits the ground with a thud, unconscious.

Step one is over. Gimrizh stumbles backwards and takes a few deep breaths before she can do anything else. Then she clips her lightsabers back onto her belt and speaks into her commlink, “Quinn, Nomen Karr is defeated,” she informs the captain, “I’m going to restrain him and wait for Jaesa Willsaam to make her appearance.”

“ _Understood, my lord_ ,” Quinn’s voice replies and then the comm goes silent.

She picks up Karr’s body with the force and levitates him over to a nearby pillar. Propping his body against the durasteel beam, she pats down his pockets until unearthing a thin spool of wire that she uses to tie him up with. She takes care to use the last of the wire to wrap his fingers and hands together into a complicated mess, hoping to prevent him to untying himself and hinder his ability to influence objects with the force.

Then she takes his lightsaber and goes to wait.

It won’t be long now, she can sense something waiting to happen, like a glass tilting on the edge of a shelf, one tiny vibration away from falling. Jaesa’s got the message now. It just depends on how close by she is, and Gimrizh suspects that Karr would have wanted her nearby for this. He was expecting Baras and he was expecting a win. That means he wasn’t planning to keep the apprentice in hiding for much longer. And besides, she can _sense_ the apprentice’s rapid approach, drawn by her master’s suffering.

Wanting to do something to busy her hands, she starts picking apart Karr’s lightsaber. Using the force, her fingernails, and her teeth, she disassembles it into base parts. It’s made of expensive materials, precious metals for the conductors and a shiny durasteel for the main hilt that would never need a polish. She slowly unwraps every last tiny wire from around the green kyber crystal and holds the small gem up to the light.

Such a beautiful thing. She wonders where he got it. Where did the red one in her Korriban saber come from? Did some long dead Sith harvest it from a cave or pluck it from the hands of an ally? Where did Quorian Dorjis get his? She likes to think that he found his on his own, that it seemed special to him and that his blade was built with his own hands. That fits what she knows about Quorian.

“ _My lord,_ ” Quinn’s voice echoes from her commlink and she has it up to her ear in a second. The force is practically _humming_ and she can guess what that means, “ _The padawan approaches._ ”

She swallows and then presses a button on her comm, “Thank you, Quinn. Let her through.”

Pocketing the crystal and abandoning the rest of the blade, she leaps to her feet and faces the door, readying herself for the padawan.

“No…” Karr mutters, his eyes slowly fluttering open to reveal the blood red gaze of the Sith, “I won’t be the bait that draws Jaesa to you…”

Gimrizh kicks him to full coherency, “Now now,” she chastises, “There’s no reason for you to become so distraught.”

His eyes lock on her and she can feel that intense anger from him again, a burning flame that has no place in the heart of a Jedi, “I was supposed to expose Baras and open the Jedi Council’s eyes! It is my destiny! Jaesa is _mine_! The glory of defeating Baras is _mine_!”

The force whispers a warning in her ears and she knows without a shadow of doubt that Jaesa Willsaam has arrived.

“Hello at last,” she says in greeting, turning to face the padawan at the door.

Jaesa Willsaam looks younger than she appeared on the holo. She’s the same age as Gimrizh and her heavy Jedi robes make her seem smaller. Her pretty features stare in shock at the scene that greets her, her master brought low and corrupted, a Sith standing over him in victory. She straightens up and strengthens herself.

“Sith,” Jaesa says, “I have come. It seems I was expected - your men outside let me pass. Release Master Karr. Your efforts to draw me out have been a success.”

“No! I told you to stay put!” Karr screams, straining against his bonds, “How dare you defy me! My sacrifice for nothing! Stupid child! For all your power, you have understood nothing!”

Jaesa recoils from the thing her master is becoming, “What have you… _done_ to him, Sith? Has this been inside him all along? No - it can’t be. No one can hide such darkness. Somehow you’ve turned him mad.”

Karr protests, seeing his apprentice doubt, “It’s Baras! He’s manipulating us all! Kill the Sith! Kill Baras’ liar and you’ll see!”

Reluctantly, Jaesa ignites a double bladed yellow saberstaff and holds it at the ready, “I shall free Master Karr and see for myself,” she declares.

Gimrizh ignites her blades and lets the padawan’s first attack break across her defenses. Oh, Jaesa’s strong alright, but not strong enough. Still not fully trained and too hesitant to do anything that could be lethal.

It takes only a minute. Gimrizh toys with her for a few strikes, testing the waters, getting a feel for the flow and rhythm of Jaesa’s attacks. And then she strikes. Her foot lashes out and kicks the padawan’s saber away and out of her hands and then she brings her blue blade down on Jaesa’s neck.

She drinks in the sudden surprise, the terror, the shock on Jaesa’s face and then her lightsaber stops a millimeter above her opponent's skin. The blue beam of light steadily points towards Jaesa’s open expression.

Her blade dies in her hand and she stands down.

“You…” Jaesa looks at her like she doesn't know what she’s seeing, “You had the opportunity to kill me, and you didn’t. You held back.”

Through a too tight throat, Gimrizh manages to say honestly, “Your death would be a tragedy.”

Jaesa gapes, “I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this. You spared my parents and Master Yonlach and then you destroy Master Karr.”

Gimrizh shakes her head, “I did nothing to Karr. You are capable of proving that yourself.”

“Master Karr taught me not to use my power as a crutch, only when it was clearly necessary,” Jaesa says, considering it and glancing over at her fallen Master, “I’ve never brought it to bear on him… but…”

“No!” Karr cries out, but it’s too late.

Gimrizh watches intently as Jaesa clasps her hands together and closes her eyes in deep thought like meditation. She can almost feel the buzz of the force as Jaesa uses whatever mysterious power she has to see the truth of Karr, “I sense… _pride_ ,” Jeasa says, a bitter tone lacing that one word like it has caused her personal offense, “And envy… and hate… vengeance - No! What Sith trick _is_ this! I would have known if my master had such darkness in him!”

“This is what the Jedi do,” Gimrizh tells her, “They mask and pretend and hide. And because they do not confront their emotions, they are ruled by them.”

Jaesa’s face crumples, “I thought… that I’d found something I could count on. Jedi are supposed to be pure, you’re supposed to know where you stand with them. Right?”

“Jaesa! It’s a trick!” Karr yells, “Turn your power on the Sith, you’ll see!”

Too shocked by the idea of someone _seeing who she is_ , Gimrizh doesn’t protest until it’s too late and Jaesa has her hands clasped again and is turning the weight of her eye in the force onto her.

“I see…” Jaesa frowns in confusion, “Mercy… and forgiveness… and even perhaps… compassion. Sparing Master Yonlach and my parents are true reflections of you, but you’re a Sith. Sith embody darkness. Yet you’re not… you shine with a deeper brightness than Master Karr. Your actions reflect light, you appear to be an agent of the dark side but... You’ve stepped onto the light path.”

She’s wrong. She’s wrong, she’s wrong, _she’s wrong_.

Jaesa stumbles backwards, her eyes open and pinning Karr with a shattered look, “I don’t know what to believe anymore. You told me there was order to the galaxy, that you would show me the truth! But nothing is like you said, you’re wearing a mask like you say Sith do and this Sith is purer than you are!”

“It’s a trick!” Karr desperately tries, “You stupid girl, can’t you see!?”

“I can see more clearly than you ever have,” she tells him through her own devastation, “Your deception is an ugly thing.”

Gimrizh agrees, although she still knows that this girl can’t be right about her. “The entire Jedi Order is mired in falseness and hypocrisy.”

“I thought…” Jaesa sighs and takes in a deep breath that seems to rake through her lungs. She looks at Gimrizh like someone seeing the moon for the first time, or the first glimpse of the stars through a ship’s viewport. “Your conviction and purity bring a reckoning that can’t be denied. I want that.”

Gimrizh falters, “Darth Baras expects you to die.”

“Please,” Jaesa tries, staring at her with those wide innocent eyes that have just had their whole damn world ripped up in front of them, “I know you are a better person than that.”

 _She’s not_.

“Imagine having someone who can see through the deception of your enemies,” Jaesa continues, “I can fight for you, protect your back from enemies and rivals alike. I want to _learn_ from you, how you walk amongst the Sith but stay bright. How you can have such purity of soul despite your darkness. I can only improve with you as my mentor.”

“Darth Baras has commanded that if you do not die,” Gimrizh explains, slowly, unsurely, “Then you must all to the dark side.”

Jaesa bites her lip and keeps pleading, “I can pretend, like you! Please, I cannot return to the Jedi, I cannot do _nothing_. What other path is there besides with you? You’ve stayed hidden from your master for so long, I can do the same! I won’t let you down!”

“Do you want to fall to the dark side?” Gimrizh asks.

“No,” Jaesa whispers, shaking her head and glancing over at Nomen Karr, “I don’t.”

“Alright,” Gimrizh says at last, and why is it that simple? She should be demanding Jaesa’s fall, forcing the girl to turn but… she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to do any of those things and even though if Baras finds out about this deception she will dearly pay, that is suddenly less important. She wants Jaesa to be happy, for some reason. The girl is so… bright.

Something to be protected.

Jaesa’s face lights up, “Thank you! I promise myself to your teachings, Master…”

“Gimrizh. My name is Gimrizh.”

“Then I pledge myself to you, Master Gimrizh. I am ready to learn your ways, master. And I look forward to aiding you in any way possible. What do you wish of me? And what shall we do with Nomen Karr?”

She has to do something for Baras, has to keep her in his favor for another moment. “I must send him to my master. There is no other choice.”

“I understand,” Jaesa readily agrees and - oh stars. This girl is going to just follow her word without hesitation, she can’t do this.

Karr pulls at the wire and tries to lunge for his former padawan, “Jaesa!” he snarls at her, spittle flying from his mouth, “I’ll see to it that the Jedi disavow you! You will be labeled as an enemy of the Order!”

The apprentice just looks down at him with pity but also disgust, “Then I’ll finally know where I stand with you.”

“We’re leaving,” Gimrizh says tersely, ignoring the bound form of Nomen Karr and trying to think about anything else than the bright eyed apprentice following at her heels. She heads out of the safe house as fast as she can, wanting to be anywhere but here right now. How can this apprentice just… _trust_ her like this? Jaesa Willsaam has to be wrong, she has to be. If Gimrizh doesn’t even know who she is, then how can Jaesa?

How can she take one more person under her protection so carelessly? She should force the apprentice to fall, to turn to the dark side, to leave, to be imprisoned, to find another master, _anything_ but keep Jaesa with her where she will be in such danger at all hours from Darth Baras. If he discovers any of this, learns that Jaesa isn’t Sith, he will not kill her quickly. Not either of them, for Gimrizh is in on it too. She’s signing both their death warrants as she does this. And yet, Jaesa had so much hope in her, faith that she’s a good person, that this whole convoluted plan will work out.

What in the hells is Gimrizh going to _do_?

She steps into the murky air of Hutta and waves the troop of soldiers over, “Nomen Karr is tied up inside the safe house. Do whatever you need to in order to secure him and then transport him to Darth Baras in Kaas City.”

They salute and rush off into the bunker she just came out of.

“And Jaesa Willsaam, my lord?” Quinn asks cautiously, glancing at Jaesa out of the corner of his eye.

Gimrizh sighs, “She’s coming with us.”

He quickly covers up his surprise and agrees, “As you say, my lord.”

“Yes!” Vette says happily, and reaches in to hug Gimrizh quickly before she can escape, “You thought about what I said!” She pulls back and bounces over to a startled, but pleased, Jaesa, “I’m so happy you’re going to be coming with us! I spent forever trying to convince this big lump not to kill you. Oh, I’m Vette,” she points to the other two of them, “You’ve met the boss already, and that’s Quinn. You’re not going to regret this, I promise!”

Jaesa’s shock melts off her face when confronted with Vette’s cheerfulness. She practically beams at the Twi’lek, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Vette. I won’t let any of you down.”

“We’re leaving,” Gimrizh instructs, “Take your conversation on the road, we have to head back to _Horizon_ and I-” she almost chokes, “I need to report to Darth Baras.”

~*~

Vette spends the entire shuttle ride nattering on to Jaesa about almost everything, _Horizon_ , what they’ve done so far, where they’ve been, and what it’s going to be like now that there’s another crew member. Gimrizh sits in one corner of the shuttle and says nothing, trying to stop the hungry panic that’s welling up inside of her. The only one who seems to notice something’s wrong is Quinn, who keeps giving her concerned glances when he thinks she can’t see. He _should_ be concerned. She just disobeyed an order from Baras, and he doesn’t even know how extremely yet.

She hadn’t had time to speak with Jaesa about what to expect from Baras. She can only hope that Nomen Karr told her enough for her to get through this first holocall. Baras will want to see what has happened to the apprentice and that means she will have to give a convincing impression of a recently fallen Jedi.

They finally make it back to _Horizon_. Toovee is quickly shut down with a press of his button through the force before his mechanical voice box can say anything. Gimrizh isn’t in the mood and the droid is a distraction from the very pressing issue of Darth Baras.

“Everyone stay here,” she says firmly, calling up her master, “Darth Baras may wish to speak with you, Jaesa.”

Jaesa nods and hovers awkwardly behind Gimrizh’s back, “Whatever you say.”

The holo powers up and then Baras fills the projector. “Apprentice,” he says, sounding both confident and almost happy. He’s heard something then, “My soldiers informed me that you are sending me a present in the shape of Nomen Karr. You know me well, I am very pleased. I look forward to getting my hands on him.”

She bows, “I am glad, master.”

“And I see you have a new passenger,” he continues, turning his head a fraction of an inch so that the slits in his mask face Jaesa, “Jaesa Willsaam, I presume? I sense her devotion to you, apprentice. I admit, I was expecting you to simply kill the girl, I did not presume that you would have the skill to seduce her to the dark side. How ever did you manage that?”

Flattery, Gimrizh thinks. She has to win him over, “By learning from the best, master.”

He laughs, a twisted booming thing, “Excellent! The perfect disciple. There’s no denying you are a master of the dark side now, I suppose. Not with this most recent conquest under your belt. Only the most accomplished among us are names as lords among Sith. You have more than earned the distinction. I hereby confer the title of Sith Lord upon you.”

A year ago she would have been thrilled by the prospect of becoming a lord. Now, she can feel the dread and fear sour any elation from the promotion. “You honor me,” she replies, head lowered.

“Through your service to me, you honor yourself,” Baras returns, “I also award a considerable stipend to those who attain such rank in my service. Enjoy it. Now, celebrate as you see fit and await my call. New plans are already taking shape and I anticipate having need of you again soon.”

He disappears from view and Gimrizh lets herself fall to lean on the holo.

That went better than she had expected. He seemed to readily accept her _acquisition_ of Jaesa WIllsaam and didn’t even require her new apprentice to speak a word. But there’s no use in her celebrating. She may be a lord, but the stakes of this game have just been upped. The higher she is, the longer her fall and now she has an apprentice to worry about, along with Vette and Quinn. Baras could destroy her crew easily if he finds out.

“Wow,” Vette says, leaning against the holo and crossing her arms, “A lord. I’m impressed.”

She thinks she can see that elusive smile on Quinn’s face as he agrees with Vette, “Congratulations, my lord.”

“You’ve both been a great help,” she tells them, trying to even it out.

Vette looks over at Jaesa, “I could show Jaesa to her quarters. She’ll be bunking with me anyways, so…”

“Of course,” Gimrizh nods and lets Vette pass her by to lead Jaesa down the hall.

“I’m here to help,” Vette says as she leaves, “Just don’t ask me to do laundry or something. Come on, Jaesa, let’s get you set up.”

Jaesa gives one last look at Gimrizh before she leaves and says, “Whenever you need me, master, whatever your order. I’ll be ready.”

Gimrizh waves her off and the two girls disappear into the cabin, leaving her alone with Quinn.

“So, my lord,” Quinn begins, “Now you have the girl. A victory, I dare say, even Lord Baras failed to anticipate. However,” he hesitates and she can see that reluctance to criticize her to her face, “I am a bit perplexed. Your methods have been rather unorthodox to this point.”

Of course he would notice. He knows her better than anyone on this damn boat, he would notice that there’s something wrong with her. “There’s more than one way to win a war,” she tells him.

He takes her retreat for what it is and lets her run away from the conversation, “Then I hope to be there when you deal the final blow.”

“Thank you,” she says, and then she flees to her quarters and shuts the door.

What is she going to _do_?

~*~

“There’s not a whole lot of space,” Vette tells Jaesa as she picks up a stack of her clothes and shoves them into her closet. She’s been a bit messy with her own space, as she hasn’t had to share before. As a result, all her clothes are strewn about on the floor, her stack of holos are scattered about, her bed isn’t made. She tries to neaten things up and make room for Jaesa, “It’s just you and me so far, rooms are gender segregated and Gimrizh has got her own private quarters cause she’s in charge.”

Jaesa fiddles with her hands and looks awkward, out of place, like she’s not sure what she’s doing here, “It’s fine, I don’t need much space, really.”

Another pile of clothes gets tossed in a pile and Vette shoves her holos into her storage crate, “I don’t _mind_ sharing,” she insists, “You can put your stuff wherever you want, I don’t care. So long as you don’t get things on my bed, at least.”

“I don’t really… have _stuff_ ,” Jaesa explains.

“ _Everyone_ has _stuff_.”

“The Jedi Order encourages an absence of attachment. Material goods are considered unnecessary and detrimental to the spirituality of a member of the Order. All I own are my robes and my lightsaber. I don’t even carry credits.”

Vette does a double take, “That’s stupid,” she says immediately, and then realizes that’s probably a bit rude, “Er… I mean…”

With a tiny nervous laugh, Jaesa waves it off, “Oh, it’s alright. There were a lot of things I disagreed with…  and I suppose I’m not a Jedi anymore either.”

And she looks so utterly lost and heartbroken that it’s hard for Vette to resist the urge to huge her. She settles for placing a comforting hand on Jaesa’s shoulder, “Hey. It’ll be fine. Things are good here. We’ve plenty of credits to buy you whatever stuff you’ve always wanted. And besides, I’m pretty sure Sith encourage material possession.”

“I don’t know,” Jaesa says, sounding bewildered, “I know little about the Sith Order besides that which the Jedi told me. I am disinclined to trust their word about anything now.”

Vette pauses and double checks Jaesa’s eyes. They’re a beautiful deep brown, sparkling with flecks of gold that catch the white light of the wall fixtures. But not the red or yellow of a Sith. A finally, visual confirmation that for whatever reason, Gimrizh did as Vette asked and didn’t force Jaesa to fall.

Jaesa reels back and averts her eyes, “I- it’s not what you think-”

“It’s okay, really,” Vette holds up her open hands in a universal gesture of goodwill, “I’m glad you didn’t have to turn to the dark side or whatnot. I’ve met some of those crazy Sith and let me tell you, not all that fun. Besides, if her paranoid Sithyness has decided to trust you, then I certainly will.”

“Thank you,” Jaesa says with a sigh of relief.

Vette smiles at her, “Your secret’s safe with me. Now, I can give you a tour of the ship if you want? I’ve got a cool set up in the engine room where I play with all the fancy toys.”

“I’d like that,” Jaesa returns her smile with a brilliant beaming grin that could convince the evilest of Sith to pledge themselves to the light side. A smile like that could be a damn dangerous sort of thing, Vette thinks.

~*~

Malavai is sitting on his bunk, trying to write up a report to Lord Baras and simultaneously ignore the sounds of Vette banging around in the engine room. Regrettably, he knows very little of what actually transpired on Hutta. He wasn’t present during the confrontation between Lord Gimrizh and Karr, or her and Jaesa Willsaam. Yes, he did see Willsaam briefly as she entered the safe house, but it was a two second encounter. His knowledge is limited.

But Lord Baras will want to know _something_ about this new addition to the _Horizon_ ’s crew, and so he might as well start writing down what little he knows.

There’s a quiet knock on his door and then Lord Gimrizh slides in, hovering uncertainly by the hatch.

He tosses the datapad aside and stands, “Ah... my lord, is there something I can help you with?”

She slowly sinks to the ground and tucks her knees to the chest and he was _right_. There is something wrong. She finally speaks, in a very muffled voice, “I wanted to apologize for Alderaan. And… if it’s alright… I’d like to tell you about Yaina.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of notes before I leave you guys:  
> \- next chapter is going to be basically Gimrizh's back story. I'm trying to get it all out in one go so that there's not a whole lot of 'ooooh mysterious backstory character'  
> \- Vette's really right that most of the cast is really fucking young to be fighting in a war. But she's also very... liberal? hippy?  
> \- PIERCE IS GONNA SHOW UP SOON! He needs a first name. Seriously, what is that guy's first name? He doesn't have one in canon so I have a couple ideas. Idea 1: Eren, Idea 2: Foris ~vote now on your phones~ (in the comment section)  
> \- I really need a beta. Any takers please?


	7. Interlude : Gimrizh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is obviously out of the current timeline, with the premise that Gimrizh finally picked up a self help book and learned that talking about your problems is a good idea.

Gimrizh doesn't know how long she has been on Korriban. No one does. All acolytes are taken at an age too young for them to remember parents or home planets. This, the overseers tell them when they ask, is key. The Sith Order, and by extension, the Empire, is the only family that will matter to them. All other blood ties are irrelevant. They even all share the same surname, 'Korribanil', meaning 'child of Korriban'.

They know this can't be completely true. It's not like that with all Sith. Some come from prominent families, with siblings or parents strong in the force. Some are even raised with their blood families.

But it is not like that in Institute Five.

The Fifth Imperial Sith Institution on Korriban lies far to the north of the main Academy, and it takes only children who are indoctrinated to the order before the age of five. Older children, or even teenagers go elsewhere, like Institute Seven in the east, or Institute Four that is only a week's speeder ride away from Five. Not all Sith start from the same place or age as them, but they are all in the same age group here. Some in Institute Five were brought in as young children, but most of them are like her, taken too young to know anything else.

All of her remembered life has so far been lived in the halls of Institute Five.

She is nine, and is about to take her year nine aptitude tests, along with the rest of her class, a group consisting of perhaps one hundred others her age.

Not all will remain in the Institute after the tests. Those that have low scores will be considered useless, as their likelihood of becoming Sith is low. And then they vanish, just never showing up to lessons the next morning. No one knows what happens to them. Some of the kids say the failures are killed on the spot, but Gimrizh doubts that. She thinks the failure acolytes are taken to military academies to become troopers or officers. It only makes sense. To just kill loyal servants of the Empire who have committed no crime besides not being force sensitive _enough_ to make it is simply wasteful.

She stands next in line, waiting for her turn in the testing booth.

Many other acolytes wait behind her. The boy behind her, a human, twists the fabric of his tunic hem around his finger nervously. She recognizes him, he failed a test on Imperial history last week. He is right to be nervous. Year nine tests don't merely measure force prowess, but also everything they have been learning over the year. Of course, no category on the test is worth as many points as the force sensitivity or the lightsaber combat portions.

Gimrizh too is nervous. She hasn't got the proper blood to be powerful. Unlike many of the humans or purebloods in her class, she's only a Zabrak. She will never be as strong as those with better bloodlines and she knows it. The overseers and the test examiners know it.  Everyone who sees her, with her disgusting horns and filthy orange tinted skin knows it.

The overseer in front of her waves her forward into the testing booth.

It's her turn.

Her throat swells and her stomach churns as she steps into the darkened room. She wants to be Sith, it's the only thing she has ever wanted in her life. The thought of being sent to be a trooper, or even worse and yet more likely, a slave, is unbearable.

"Take a seat," Says the overseer sitting behind the desk. She doesn't know him, and his face is too shadowed to properly make out.

Gimrizh sits in the small chair. In front of her is a holoterminal and a keyboard.

The screen asks for her number, which she quickly types in, and then the test starts.

It tests her on everything. Imperial history, Republic history, politics, philosophy, strategy, flight skills, engineering, Sith codes. Each question only pops up for a minute. If she doesn't input her answer before then, the question goes away and it counts as a negative point towards her total score. As the test goes on, the questions get more and more challenging, asking her to give elaborate detail or repeat specifics from battles they only studied briefly.

Behind the desk, the Overseer is watching her, both with his eyes and with the force. That's part of the test too, to see how acolytes react to the force and vice versa when placed under pressure.

After what feels like hours - there's no light and no way to tell time - the screen suddenly goes blank.

The first section is over.

From behind the desk, the overseer slowly rises to his feet. Gimrizh bolts out of her chair to stand at attention. Sitting while an overseer stands is a very rude and very punishable transgression.

"We will now begin the force sensitivity section," the overseer tells her, "Proceed to training room F37 and await further instruction."

He opens a door opposite the one she came in through and points her down the hall before shutting the door behind her.

She ends up going through the Institute halls towards a practice room. Gimrizh sees a few other acolytes moving around, a few nervously heading to the next section like her. A couple are being led somewhere by an overseer, and one lone pureblood boy seems to be running messages.

When she pushes open the door to F37, a stern looking human overseer greets her with a dismissive sort of nod.

The overseer gestures to a stack of weights, "Levitate as many as you can."

Gimrizh raises ten before her concentration snaps.

Clicking her tongue in an ambiguous gesture, the overseer makes a note on her datapad, "Crush the twenty kilo weight."

It's a lump of rubble two seconds later. Gimrizh is desperate to please.

Another note scribbled down, "Crush the fifty kilo weight."

This one is harder. It ends up being less compact than the previous one.

The overseers force presence is unchanging. It pokes and prods at Gimrizh as she completes her tasks, checking for weaknesses to exploit. It's such an overt presence that it keeps almost interfering with Gimrizh's concentration, and that's half the point.

After crushing things to compressed balls of metal, the overseer makes her move various objects around the room. Then there's a meditation section, during which the overseer presses down on Gimrizh's weak force presence, trying to rummage through her mind or distract her from her meditation.

At last the overseer makes one final note on her datapad and ushers Gimrizh towards an outside leading door, "Proceed to the combat portion of the test, acolyte."

Relieved, Gimrizh hurries outside. She always does better on combat portions than she does on pure force power. Not to mention how horribly uncomfortable that overseer had made her feel.

The sky is overcast and the air is still, a dry oppressive sort of heat covering the ground.

"Acolyte," A tall overseer addresses her.

"Sir." Gimrizh immediately replies, bowing down.

He points her towards a complex obstacle course that other acolytes are going through, "Run the gauntlet. I will time you." He orders, in a deep gruff voice.

She jogs obediently to the starting line before beginning the course at a dead sprint.

It's more challenging than what she normally does everyday in class, requiring her to flip and climb and twist and crawl her way through an uncountable number of obstacles. By the end, she's panting heavily and is short of breath. But she nails the final flip and lands with some confidence in front of the overseer.

Then he hands her a practice vibroblade and proceeds to destroy what little confidence she had by absolutely thrashing her in a spar.

She lasts maybe five minutes before he breaks her guard. A second later, a vicious slash to her chest sends her collapsing to the ground.

"Your test is over," the overseer says in a detached voice while Gimrizh tries to force herself to breathe and keep any threatening tears at bay while fighting the pain. The overseer presses a few buttons on his datapad as her final score calculates. "Proceed to room A5-1 and wait for further instruction."

He doesn't tell her what her score is. She doesn't ask.

Dutifully she troops back towards the building, holding her chest tightly.

"Acolyte," the overseer calls, "See a medic for your ribs first."

"Yes sir," she replies gratefully, "Thank you sir."

She heads to the medical center in the Institute basement first, where a harried medic scowls at her before placing kolto on her ribs and binding them tightly. Then the medic kicks her out and she heads back upstairs to A5, which would be the first room on the fifth floor of building A.  

Gimrizh tugs her tunic down over the white gauze as she goes, not wanting to anyone else to see her injury.

This part of the Institute is less crowded right now, and the stream of people coming and going filters down to a faint trickle as she approaches her designated room.

Room A5-1 is a classroom, one of the smaller ones. About a dozen or so acolytes are already inside, seated in desks and whispering quietly to themselves. When Gimrizh enters, she is struck by how many are human or pureblood. There's only one other alien there, a Mirialan girl with pale green skin.

Well versed in how the Institute's social structure works, Gimrizh knows better than to sit with the human or pureblood children. Instead she takes a seat next to the Mirialan girl.

"Hey," the girl whispers pleasantly, "I'm Yaina."

"Gimrizh."

"Wicked. I think they group us by score? Do you know?"

"Err. No. I thought score too?"

"Yeah. Weird that we ended up with a bunch of pro-species, huh? How'd you do on the test? I think I did alright for the first two sections but I got beat up bad by the overseer in that spar."

"Did you get hurt?"

"Nah, just landed flat on my ass was all. More embarrassing than painful."

A flush darkens Gimrizh’s cheeks and she presses a palm to her ribs, feeling the outline of the bandages through the fabric of her tunic. So she was the only one who got injured. She’s so pathetic.

“Attention!”

The class shuts up and scrambles to their feet immediately as an overseer enters the room. He’s a Sith pureblood, like many of the acolytes in the room, with shiny gold studs piercing his forehead and chin. He stands at the front of the room, hands clasped behind his back, and surveys the class with an unimpressed expression.

“I am Overseer Rihne,” he practically growls out, “And I will have the _misfortune_ of teaching you for the next nine years until you complete your year eighteen exams. I suppose some measure of congratulations are in order. The sixteen of you here today scored in the top 95th percentile on your aptitude tests.”

Yaina and Gimrizh exchange wide eyed glances.

_Impossible! They’re both sub-species!_

Sensing the surprised emotions that ripple through the classroom, Rihne snaps at them, “Do _not_ think that this somehow makes the lot of you special- as far as I am concerned, you haven’t won anything yet. All the test results indicate is a potential to become Sith, nothing more. You need to prove yourselves if you want a shot at becoming Sith. Due to your high scores, I will expect the best from you lot. You will be under more pressure than your fellow acolytes and I demand higher standards and perfect results. Failure is not tolerated.” He levels them with one last stare, “Report to section A-1R for your new room assignments. I will see each and every one of you at the training ground six at oh-five hundred tomorrow. Dismissed.”

The group bows and starts filling out of the classroom, dissolving into frenzied whispers as soon as they leave Rihne’s eyesight.

“Acolytes Gimrizh and Yaina, remain behind,” Rihne tells them sternly as the two girls almost reach the door.

“Yes sir,” Both of them reply, walking up to the front instead of out the door to freedom.

Rihne looks down at them, his red eyes burning with barely concealed disgust. “The two of you barely made the cut. As such, you will be required to prove yourselves in this class, and against your other classmates. If you slip up even once, you will be sent to the slave camps on Dromund Kaas without a second of hesitation. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Get out of my sight.”

~*~

Gimrizh is ten.

She wakes up at half past four. At five, she joins her class for morning training. At nine, they have class. At three, they start training again. At eight, they are released to complete any extra assignments they may have been given.

At eight thirty, Gimrizh and Yaina finally make it back to the dorm they share, after sticking by each other’s sides throughout the harsh day. Both of them are similar only because they are different from the rest of their peers. They are the only aliens in their class, and thus they are always separate from the other acolytes.

The bullying is bad, but it’d be worse if they weren’t together. Gimrizh knows how to keep a watchful eye out for any incoming trouble and Yaina always knows how to get the last word, either in a thrown out taunt or a retaliatory prank.

They’re alone, but at least they’re alone together.

The Empire has made peace with the Galactic Republic and the two of them stand close to each other as Overseer Rihne rages as he explains the news to the class. The Treaty of Coruscant is a strange sounding thing to the two of them but they both know that this is history. Right here and now, history.

They are at peace. Training grows harsher.

~*~

Gimrizh is eleven.

Yaina wakes up screaming every other night and Gimrizh dozes lightly, knowing that she will have to snap awake at a moment's notice to quiet her friend. If they wake Reus and Irien, the two purebloods who room next door to them, they’ll be in for a world of hurt during sparring the next day.

“I miss my mom,” Yaina sobs one night, “They killed her Gim… right in front of me… didn’t even care.”

Gimrizh puts her pillow back - both of them have agreed that if it comes down to smothering Yaina awake or igniting Irien’s temper, Yaina would rather be smothered. Gimrizh doesn’t remember her family. But Yaina was four when she was taken to Korriban. Old enough that she remembers her parents.

“I’m sure they’re proud of you,” Gimrizh says awkwardly.

Yaina buries her head in her blankets, “Dad would hate me. Both of ‘em would. _Hated_ the Empire, Gim. _Hated_ it. Had cousins who were pubs and Jedi and... None of ‘em like the Empire.”

“I’m sorry,” Gimrizh doesn’t know what to say to that. The Empire is everything to them now, it has to be. They’ve been raised to love the Sith and the Empire, to fight for it and if need be, die for it. What choice do they have but to fall in line and love the Empire as well? The Sith and the Empire keep them alive, keep them fed, keep them from dying outside the Institutes. Hating the Empire is something only dirty Republic scum do. It’s not a pleasant thought to realizes that your own parents were the worst sort of beings in the galaxy.

“Not your fault… Really not...” Yaina mutters, “Sorry for waking you. Go back to sleep.”

~*~

Gimrizh is twelve.

Her cheek is black and blue, and her ribs are cracked. Irien’s fault, of course. Damn that pureblood and his irritating strength. Even so, despite the heavy pain that damages her breathing and will prevent her from doing anything more than light exercises for the week, she is _still_ smiling. It’s a vicious smile, full of mischief.

Years at the Institute, living as a sub-species in a class and a dorm full of humans and purebloods has taught her how to get even. And while she may be good at vengeance, Yaina excels at the art.

So when Irien and Reus step into the classroom, ten minutes late and covered head to toe in sticky ink, both Gimrizh and Yaina have an alibi.

Overseer Rihne rages his wrath on the two purebloods while in the back of the classroom, Yaina and Gimrizh fist bump beneath their desk.

“Oh yeah…” Yaina mutters vindictively, “So worth it.”

~*~

Gimrizh is thirteen.

“This is what I want!” Yaina whispers excitedly, pointing at a sketch on a piece of flimsy, “Something like that, in black!”

Frowning, Gimrizh examines the drawing, “Um. You know these are going to be _my_ tattoos, right? You’ve already got yours.”

“So?” Yaina pushes the paper over.

Almost automatically, Gimrizh corrects a few of Yaina’s lines. She doesn’t really know where the thoughts come from. She was taken to the Institute too young to remember anything about where she was born or the people who lived there, and as such she shouldn’t have any memories of the traditional Zabrak tattoos. But she just sort of knows where Yaina’s sketch needs to be tweaked, knows that some lines should be shorter or thicker, or moved an inch to the left. Sharpens away the square patterns into something sickle shaped and adds harsh cutting wings at the edges of the darkest blocks.

“Ohhh. That looks a lot better.” Yaina comments, looking at Gimrizh’s improved tattoo design.

“I…” Gimrizh pauses, thinking her words through carefully, “Why do all your designs for my tattoos look kind of like yours?”

Yaina’s normally green skin flushes to a dark turquoise tone. “Well… even though my tattoos are kind of permanent...”

“Yes I’m pretty sure that’s the point of tattoos.”

“Shush, Gim! Anyway, I just kind of wanted us to match. You know, see this has a similar forehead pattern here, and there’s kind of the same thing under the eyes. Even though yours are going to look Zabrak and mine are Mirialan, and I’m _super_ _proud_ of my Mirialan background don’t get me wrong… I just thought…”

“I like your design. And I agree. You’d look weird with Zabrak tattoos.”

“We’d match if we did it that way!” Yaina reminds her, “So then _you’d_ look weird.”

“I am confused and I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works.”

“Shush. Aren’t I always right?”

“...Yes Yaina, you’re infallible.”

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

~*~

Gimrizh is fourteen.

Irien slams his vibroblade against hers again and again, pressing his advantage to try and break through her defenses.

Twenty feet over, Yaina fares worse against Reus - it’s a deliberate ploy by Overseer Rihne, who is well aware of the two boys long time hatred of them. Pitting them against each other is an easy way to force both pairs to fight their best every damn day. For Reus and Irien, their pride is on the line. Two purebloods like them can’t lose to two sub-humans. But Gimrizh and Yaina have more at stake, namely the promise of being sold into slavery if they fail. The desperation of that knowledge is a far more powerful incentive than mere pride.

After years of being forced to fight each other for years, Gimrizh and Irien know each other's styles well. But Gimrizh has never won, not once.

Irien fights furiously and wildly, using primarily Juyo form to fuel aggressive strikes.

In contrast, Gimrizh tries to compensate for her smaller stature and lower power by utilising the twirling acrobatic moves of Ataru form. Her usual tactic is dodge and evade Irien’s heavy movements, rushing in to attack with her vibroblade as swiftly as possible before ducking out of his reach again.

A hard overhead slash forces Gimrizh to drop to the ground and roll out of Irien’s way. She sweeps her blade at his legs, trying to unbalance him.

Before she can pull her blade back into a defensive position, Irien kicks her in the stomach, sending her skidding across the ground. The pain of impact takes her breath away, and she barely manages to get her blade up to guard her head from his next strike.

His sword smashes into her’s, barely an inch away from the side of her head. The vibrations ring through her ears.

"Get up!" Irien barks at her, raising his blade for another attack.

Gimrizh leaps to her feet and whirls to the side as his vibroblade slices through the air where she had been standing only a moment ago. She flips her blade around in her hand and strikes at his unprotected ribs.

He gasps and stumbles backwards, clutching his side where she stuck him.

With a furious roar, he leaps at her and resumes a fast paced series of ferocious strikes that leave her hard pressed to dodge. She manages to evade him only for a few hard won moments before he hits her in the chest.

When she falters, he hits her again, and then again, and again, his vibroblade leaving red gashes across her torso from the strength of his attacks.

The pain is burning, searing through her, too much to bear. She collapses onto the ground, gasping for breath and crying out as he kicks her.

“Stop it!” Yaina yells, abandoning her duel to put herself between Irien and Gimrizh, “You’ve won, we get it! Just stop before you get her killed!”

Irien spits at Gimrizh’s huddled up form before turning away, “Fine. Let’s go, Reus. I’ll see you for round two tomorrow, Horns!”

“Go dunk your head in a latrine!” Yaina calls tauntingly after him before she drops down to reach out her hand to Gimrizh, “Are you alright?”

Gimrizh just stares at Irien as he walks away. Why can’t he just leave her alone? Why does he insist on making every second of combat practice a living hell for her? How would he like it if she kicked him into the dirt every day and then spat on his body? He’d hate it, he’d hate to be humiliated by her. Desire fills her with images of her stepping on his broken body, her cutting him down with her own gleaming vibroblade, her kicking him in the gut like he does to her.

It hurts, hurts, _hurts_. She’d burn through the pain in an instant and take a beating twice as worse if only to be given the extreme pleasure of punching him in the face. He’s beaten her for the last time. _Her turn_.

Her lips curl downward and her eyes harden into a glare. “ _Fuck_ him,” she snarls, her voice low and bitter, “I’m going to krething _kill_ him.”

Her hearts pump hatred through her body, pushing raging fire through her veins. She’s never hated anything or anyone as much as she hates Irien now. It burns through her like lava, turning her weakness to ash.

The pain, previously unbearable, fades to a dull ache. Her fists clench at her sides and she slowly stands to her feet.

“IRIEN!” She screams at him, turning her rage into a sound that rips like a roar.

He turns to face her, a sadistic grin already on his face as he readies his vibroblade, “Oh yeah, Horns? You really want to go again?”

Fueled by hatred and raw unfiltered power - and _oh stars where is this power coming from?_ \- she rushes him. In a single push she bridges the gap between them to lash out and hit him across the face.

In the second of his shock at being struck barehanded, Gimrizh rips his blade from his hand and throws it away. She wants to feel his bones snap beneath her hands, crush the life from him, and dig her thumbs into his eyeballs. A vibroblade will only get in her way. That hit was so so good and she wants more.

She throws herself at him, the two of them rolling on the ground. He gets a right hook in before she claws at his face like a mad nexu.

Both of them are screaming at each other, screaming their lungs out as they punch each other in the face.

And then Irien kicks her in her already bruised chest and she goes down like a sack of bricks.

Irien scrambles to his feet and rips Reus’ blade from his friend’s hands. With a fiery war cry, he runs at her, blade back and ready to strike.

He doesn't make it.

Suddenly Gimrizh’s hands are at his throat - only that can’t be, because she’s still a full meter away and her hands are curling around empty space.

Rough choking coughs come out of Irien’s mouth as he flails his hands uselessly, trying to pry invisible hands away from his windpipe. Blood is pounding in her ears, burning a path of power through her body and out her hands, letting her experience every delicious second of this. Every futile twitch in Irien’s neck, every rasping breath he tries to take is felt beneath her fingers. It’s the best thing she’s ever felt in her entire life. Nothing exists outside of herself and her prey.

She can _feel_ the power swirl around her, feel it pour into her unfettered. It brings strength enough to choke Irien and thick sweetness enough to cover her pains like a cloying scent covers up stench. And _oh_ , it has been _her_ this whole time, _she’s_ been the one keeping this power out. Why she _ever_ resisted this, she doesn’t know. Nothing is as good as this rush, nothing is this powerful.

She’s _unstoppable._

Her fists close tightly.

Irien falls to the ground. A thud sounds as his body hits the dirt.

He’s dead, she can feel it. She can see Yaina’s terrified open-mouthed expression, hear Reus scream as he runs away, and see the odd look that Overseer Rihne, arriving moments too late, gives her. But none of that matters. All that matters to her anymore is the power fading from her fingers and the cooling corpse on the ground.

~*~

Gimrizh is fifteen.

She’s the top of her class. Her hatred unlocks such a deep power in her, and although her classmates hate her with just as much ferocity as she hates them, she’s still stronger. Spars go her way now, it’s been months since any of the other acolytes who face her in the ring could defeat her in combat.

Yaina drags in the lower half of the class rankings, never putting forth more effort than needed to stay afloat. She doesn’t want to fail, but she hasn’t the passionate burning desire to be Sith that grips the rest of the acolytes.

The bullying is both worse and better now.

Worse, in that the whole class seems to hate the both of them and will stop at nothing to prove their superiority. Better, in that Gimrizh knocks each and everyone of them flat on their ass during the next day’s fight. Where Yaina, with her obsession in having the last word in an argument, had previously been the one protecting Gimrizh, now it is the other way around.

Their friendship is only slightly strained by the previous year’s murder. Yaina doesn’t bring it up and Gimrizh doesn’t push her about it.

Yaina turns sixteen and the next day, lightning sparks at her fingertips.

Suddenly Yaina is second in the class and no one bothers them again. Gimrizh is so proud of her best friend - with her vibroblade and Yaina's lightning, nothing and no one can stop them now.

Yaina is horrified by herself.

When Overseer Rihne orders her to electrocute a failing acolyte as punishment, she spends the next week hiding in their room, crying.

~*~

Gimrizh is sixteen.

"Don't cry." She says to Yaina, hoping it's not a lie, "Everything will be fine."

They're squished together in a storage closet, Yaina leaning against the wall and she tries to stifle the thin trickle of tears that pour from her eyes. Gimrizh doesn't really know how to comfort her friend but she does know how to try, which is all she has really ever done. She puts a hand on Yaina's shoulder and uses her foot to nudge a bucket out from where it has been digging into her knees. Next time Yaina runs off to cry, Gimrizh will suggest somewhere more comfortable than this dark cramped storage closet.

"How can you say that?" Yaina demands, "I didn't just hurt some random acolyte today- I hurt _you_!"

Training today had been rough, and it had only gotten worse when Overseer Rihne had forced Yaina to electrocute Gimrizh. It hadn't been that bad, actually. Yaina had been too distressed to do the thing properly and the lightning had been light shocks compared to the searing pain it normally is.

"Barely," she tells her sobbing friend, "It was barely anything. We've both had worse from the overseers. I... It was clear you didn't want to hurt me."

And that's the main problem. Neither of them can hurt the other, they're too close for that now. But that sort of soft-hearted feeling is exactly what the overseers frown upon. That's probably the reason Overseer Rihne forced Yaina against her in the first place - an attempt to loosen whatever they have between them. Gimrizh knows that if she is ever to become Sith, they won't be able to keep their friendship. And she _longs_ to be Sith.

Yaina looks up at her, yellow eyes glistening wet, "Of course I didn't want to hurt you. I could _never_ hurt you! You're like my sister- I love you - and I _hurt_ you!"

With a deep sigh, Gimrizh slides down to the floor to sit next to Yaina, "I know. I- Yaina, things aren't always easy here. But the way I see it, we're going to be stuck hurting each other for a long time. Maybe till we're Sith even. And I don't want to see you fall apart every time you hurt me... so… just stop feeling bad about hurting me.”

And then she promptly cringes because that’s probably not a good thing to have said and Yaina’s still sobbing so it clearly didn’t help. “So…” she tries again, “I’ll forgive you in advance. If you hurt me, it’s okay, I’ve already forgiven you. Er. You’ve got a free pass, okay? For forever, if you get me hurt, you already have a free ‘I forgive you’ and then you don’t need to cry because it’ll already be okay.”

A tiny giggle comes out of Yaina’s lips, “Oh Gim, you can be such a dummy sometimes. That’s not _really_ the same.”

“Shush, I’m right,” Gimrizh says stubbornly, hoping to see the smile on her friend’s face grow instead of fade away.

It works. Yaina rolls her eyes and her teeth show through her smile, “Um, _I’m_ always right, not you. We both know how this works,” Then she tugs Gimrizh into an awkward shoulder hug. Yaina’s always been a heavy hugger and Gimrizh has always shied away from excessive physical contact and their results are pleasant, if stiff. “Still. I forgive you in advance, and I accept your advance forgiveness.”

“Good,” Gimrizh says, checking her chrono, “Now we need to go. Rihne’s going to start afternoon training in ten minutes and we cannot be late.”

Yaina leaps to her feet, hits her head, and then swears, “Ah shit! Come on, we gotta run!”

~*~

Gimrizh is seventeen.

"I can't stand this Gim," Yaina confesses.

Class has been letting out earlier and earlier this past year, so that the acolytes will have more time to study for their year eighteen aptitude tests, which are rapidly approaching. They're walking out on the surface on one of the old tombs at sunset, and thankfully, they’re far enough away from the Institute that there is no one and nothing around to hear Yaina’s blasphemous words.

“What?” Gimrizh asks sternly, “What is it that you can’t stand?”

Kicking a stone in her way, Yaina sighs and gives Gimrizh a look, “Everything. The Institute, I guess, if I have to chose the worst thing.”

Gimrizh stops walking, “You can’t say that.”

“I don't care.” Yaina mutters, staring off at the setting sun. "I don't like it here. I don't like that they got rid of my surname, that they call me 'Korribanil' instead of 'Rineth'. I don't like the rules that keep us here, and the constant fighting and the patriotism. I don't like having to electrocute people at the overseer's command, like some trained animal.”

“Things will get better,” Gimrizh says, focusing her thoughts in the moment and trying to shake off the redness in her cheeks. She tries to think about what could possibly help, and what exactly is the problem. “They already have! Reus hasn’t bothered us in us years, none of the other purebloods or humans can so much as touch us anymore.”

“Oh Gim, that’s not the problem!”

“Then what is?! We’re top two in the class, Overseer Rihne’s finally stopped beating us down every other second, we’re going to be _Sith_!”

“That’s what _you_ want, not me!”

“What? Of course you want to be Sith, everyone in the Institute wants to be Sith.”

“I don’t want to use lightning, I can’t stand it when the overseers make me, and every second I have to use the force hurts me. It feels like I’m drowning, like some living _thing_ is being shoved into my body and I can’t control it! It’s not being free, like they say it is! It hurts and it’s _wrong_! I don’t want to be Sith!”

Gimrizh stumbles backwards. How can Yaina say such things? Using the force isn’t an injury, it doesn’t hurt. It feels like the strongest power in the universe. Can’t Yaina feel that? Becoming Sith isn’t a trial or a travesty, it’s the greatest honor that sub-species like them could ever possibly be given.

“Never say that again!” she snaps, angrily slicing her hand through the air, “Just wait till the end of our year eighteen aptitude tests! Then you’ll see!”

Yaina just sighs again, a heavy breathy sigh that seems to slum her entire body, “I don’t think I’ll ever see what it is you love so much about the force.”

“Please,” Gimrizh grits out. It’s a word she hates using. She shouldn’t have to beg! Yaina should just _know_ , like all the other acolytes do, that being Sith is the ultimate goal. “Everything will make sense after we take our tests next year.”

‘Will it?”

“Yes, of course! We’ll advance, and then the overseers will give us more knowledge before we transfer to the Academy! They’ll tell us secrets about the force that very few know - Yaina, they’ll explain everything to you! Whatever issue you have with the force will become clear to you and you won’t have this… this _problem_ anymore!”

“I don’t know, Gim… I don’t think that there’s anything they can teach us that will make channeling the force feel… less painful.”

“One more year. Just… wait till after we’ve advanced."

“...”

“Do it for me, Yaina. _Please_.”

“Fine. One more year.”

“Thank you.” Gimrizh gives her friend one last look before turning away back towards the Institute and away from the burning sun, “It’s getting late.”

“I’ll be back later,” Yaina says quietly, “Head back without me.”

With a nod, Gimrizh walks back to the Institute, wishing that she could turn back the clock to before they’d ever come out here. She doesn’t know what she can do to make Yaina see. Gimrizh is so angry, all the time, that using the force comes as naturally as breathing. She can’t comprehend what it must be like to fight it, or to have it hurt.

Yaina will learn, she tells herself. They’ll advance and then Yaina’ll see why the force can’t be denied and why she strives to be Sith.

~*~

Gimrizh is eighteen.

The year eighteen aptitude tests are a walk in the park compared to her year nine tests. The knowledge portion is easy, the force manipulation section makes her blood sing with power before she heads outside into the bright sun to fight. She knocks three overseers down with her vibroblade in the combat portion before Overseer Rihne tells her to get off the field and let the other acolytes in their class have a turn.

Yaina scores just below her on the class ranking.

When Rihne announces their final scores and Gimrizh hears how close she and her friend are, she grins proudly. Yaina just looks away, and Gimrizh tells herself just a little bit longer. Just a little bit longer and then she’ll make Yaina see.

The next day, an overseer from the Academy visits Institute Five.

Rihne has her and Yaina meet him, the two best candidates that Institute Five can offer the Academy, even though they won’t be moved up for another three years, at least.

“This is Overseer Tremel,” Rihne tells them, as they stand straight backed and a side by side in his office, “He’s here to pick out acolytes from this year’s graduating class, but I suggested that he meet the two of you as well, while he’s here. Consider this is a preview of the rewards to come in a few years.”

Both of them bow to the unfamiliar Overseer.

“It’s good to meet the two of you,” Tremel says. His eyes run across them carefully, like he’s appraising the goods before committing to a buying price, “It will be interesting to see what happens to you later on.”

~*~

Gimrizh is nineteen.

She is summoned in the middle of the night to Overseer Rihne’s office.

“Sir?” she asks, unsure why she’s standing in his office at one in the morning. As per usual, she hasn’t gotten much sleep this week and she’d really rather not be called to midnight meetings on any sort of frequent basis.

“You are the closest acolyte to Acolyte Yaina,” Rihne says in a deathly serious voice that makes Gimrizh’s hearts skip a beat, “As such, this task falls to you.”

“What task?” she demands, looking around his office as if she honestly expects Yaina to be here, “I don’t understand. What’s happened to Yaina? Is she alright? Have one of the purebloods in the class hurt her?”

Rihne slowly shakes his head, “No.”

“Then what?” Gimrizh asks.

He raises an eyebrow at her. “Huh. You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what? What’s happened?”

“Pity,” he continues, as though she hasn’t spoken, as though she isn’t hanging onto every single word that flows from his lips, “It’d be easier if you knew. And she had such promise...”

“Sir,” Gimrizh clasps her hands together, “What’s happened to Yaina?”

Rihne sinks slightly into his chair, “Acolyte Yaina is a traitor to the Sith Order and the Empire. An hour ago she stole an overseer’s lightsaber and ran off. We’d track her, but she was clever enough or lucky enough to cause a complete system failure before fleeing the Institute and running into the wild.”

“What.”

It’s a lie. It has to be. There’s no way Yaina could… except… Only then does Gimrizh truly notice the tired lines beneath Rihne’s face, the way his holo keeps flashing red, the lack of light in his office that could only have been caused by a total blackout. The truth hits her like a kick to the stomach. Of _course_ Yaina fled.

“We can fix the blackout of course,” Rihne explains, “But while we’re busy, Acolyte Yaina runs offworld. That cannot happen.”

“I… I don’t…”

He unhooks his lightsaber from his belt and places it on the desk between them.

No. He can’t…

“You will track down Acolyte Yaina - as her closest confidant, you will know her habits and patterns better than anyone else the Institute could spare. Kill her. Ensure that whatever contact she is attempting to meet leaves empty handed or dead.” Rihne leans on his desk and looks her straight in the eyes, his brilliant red against her confused yellow, “I understand that you may wish to spare her. But know this - she is a _traitor_. She has betrayed everything that the Sith stand for, and by abandoning you, she has betrayed you as well. Whatever friendship you thought the two of you had, she has broken.”

Gimrizh had asked her to stay.

She had _begged her._ Pleaded with her to stay just a little bit longer, put her neck on the line to try and make Yaina understand. And Yaina’s just left…? Without explaining herself? Without _apology_?

Everything that Gimrizh is lies with the Sith, on Korriban. If Yaina’s against that, then she’s against _her_ too. _Yaina_ has chosen to draw that line, not her. Yaina knows how tied to the Sith she is, Yaina _knows_ and still decided that it didn’t matter. That _she_ doesn’t matter. After _everything_. And Yaina had just _thrown her away_ …?

“I won’t show mercy,” she snarls, curling her hand around the hilt of the lightsaber.

She takes a speeder from the Institute’s landing bay.

The night is dark and treacherous, especially in the harsh wilds of Korriban. But none of that matters. Yaina’s easy to follow. Her tracks are obvious to Gimrizh, who’s spent years following her friend around on the plateaus and in the tombs that surround Institute Five. Following Yaina in the dark is hard, but still only the matter of a few quick minutes.

Anger pulses through her like a smoldering fire, ready to burn out of her body at a moment’s notice. It’s like pressure building up in her chest and she’ll explode if she doesn’t let it burn everything around her to ash and dust.

_Yaina betrayed her._

Gimrizh, lightsaber heavy at her side, slams the accelerator forward as she skids the speeder across the top of a tomb.

All those years of being together.

All of that and Yaina just…

On the horizon, a swiftly moving figure rushes into view. Gimrizh stand in her seat and squints her eyes, trying to visually confirm what her hearts tell her.

“YAINA!”

She jams the speeder ignition and leaps from the driver seat, landing lightly on her feet. The speeder skids off the edge of the tomb and falls into the chasm ahead before crashing into ruin a thousand feet below them.

And Yaina, only few meters ahead of her, stops running.

Gimrizh palms the lightsaber hilt, “Why don’t you _face_ me!?”

“So Rihne sent _you_ after me.” Yaina says, slowly turning around. A lightsaber hangs from her belt, glinting in the light of Korriban’s three currently visible moons. “I don’t want to do this, Gim. I don’t want to fight you.”

Angrily grinding her teeth together, Gimrizh glares at Yaina, “If you didn’t want to fight you shouldn’t have betrayed me!”

“I didn’t betray you!” Yaina cries, clutching her hand over her heart, “You know I could never betray you!”

“Then what do you call this?!” She demands, gesturing to the scene around them, “You’ve betrayed the Sith Order and the Empire!”

“They’re organizations, not people! They’re not _you_!”

“I _am_ Sith! I _serve_ the Empire! It’s the same thing!”

“No it isn’t! Gim-”

“Don't call me that! Not anymore. You lost the right to call me that when you turned your back on me!”

Wetness glints in the corners of Yaina’s eyes as she yells, “I didn’t! I love you! I could never hurt you! Not then, not now, not ever! I _won’t_ fight you.”

Gimrizh unhooks her lightsaber, “But I will have to fight you. Turn yourself in. If you return to the Institute willingly, I’m sure the overseers will go easy on you. I’ll be by your side every step of the way, even if they lock you up. It’s better than being dead. There’s nothing worse than being dead - and that’s what I’ll have to do to you if you don’t _come back to the Institute with me_! I don’t _want_ to _kill_ you, Yaina! I _loved you_!”

“...Not anymore?"

With a hiss, the red blade of Gimrizh’s lightsaber emerges, “This is your last chance,” she warns, her voice deep with an undercurrent of rage, “Surrender yourself. You know you can’t defeat me.”

Not now.

Not anymore.

Perhaps once she and Yaina could have fought each other to a stalemate, but not now. Gimrizh is too furious to be taken down, her rage too great a thing to be extinguished.

“I know,” Yaina whispers, “I won’t fight you.”

“Then come _back_.”

“No. I can’t. I can never go back to that place, I can never be Sith.”

Gimrizh’s hand curls, the tan skin around her knuckles going pale as she wraps her fingers tightly around the lightsaber hilt, “You’re strong in the force, I know you have this stupid issue about using the power that you have but-”

“I will never use the dark side of the force again,” Yaina tells her firmly, her words as unbendable as steel, “I won’t let it destroy me.”

Her brow furrows as she stares at Yaina in confusion, “That’s absurd! The dark side isn’t your enemy - it’s the most powerful ally there is! It’s stronger than anything! Look at what it’s done for me!”

“I am!” Yaina screams at her, throwing her arms out, “I _am_ looking at what it’s done to you! You can’t see what it’s turned you into! You’ve changed! We weren’t strong, or powerful, or the _best_ , before, but we were happy! Now, you’ve become someone who I know you’re not! All you do is _hate_! You _killed_ Irien, and you _didn’t even care_! You’re turning into a _monster_!”

“I’m strong! Stronger than ever before!”

“No you’re not! You’re becoming as callous and cruel as the worst overseer! _That’s_ what the dark side has done to you!”

She’s _wrong_!

“You’re just jealous! Jealous that I’ve become stronger than you ever could be!”

“I don’t care about any of that! I never have! I care about _you_! The Sith Order, the Empire - they don’t give a damn about you! They want you to become a twisted, vicious, _ruined_ version of yourself so that they can throw you on the battlefield and watch you cut down innocent people without remorse!”

Gimrizh laughs, a harsh rough laugh that makes a mockery of everything that’s been said, “You’re sounding like a _Jedi_. Like one of those Republic fools. You think they have the right idea of things, do you?!”

“They’re not right either! The Republic and Jedi aren’t right! But hells - they’re not the Empire! At least the Jedi, with their pure righteousness and sticks up their asses - at least they control their abilities! They don’t let the force control them like they’re children!”

“ _I_ control the force!”

“No you _don’t_! You let it run through you and destroy you like a wildfire!”

“Then what’s the answer?!” Gimrizh demands, spreading her arms out, “What solution does the great and wise Yaina have to enlighten us with?!”

“I don’t have an answer!” Yaina cries at her, “I don’t have a _plan!_ I never did! There's no one waiting to take me off world, no ship I'm running to! I just- I just- I just want it all to be _over_! I never want to touch the force again! I never want to become _you_! _I just want this to end!_ ”

“I won’t let you leave!”

“And I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore!” Yaina still, _still_ hasn’t touched her lightsaber. It’ll be her mistake, “I can only hope. That one day you’ll realize that you’re destroying yourself. That you’re letting them turn you into a monster. You kill me, you'll fall further down the path of the dark side. You'll fall too far and I don't know if you'll be able to pull yourself out. Kill me and the dark side will utterly consume you. I won't let that happen.”

Gimrizh readies her lightsaber, “You always have to have the last word, don’t you? But not this time. This _betrayal_ \- it just proves you know nothing about me!”

“That’s not what this is about,” Yaina says with brutal, painful honesty, “This isn’t about you. This isn’t about the Sith. This isn’t even really about the force. This is just... me… I can’t keep doing this, I just can’t. I can’t keep staying here, _hurting_ , being forced to hurt others. I can’t fight you, I can’t fight anyone, not anymore.”

“Either turn yourself in,” Gimrizh snarls, “Or _fight me_ , and loose.”

“No.”

“You don’t have a choice!”

As though a damn suddenly bursts, tears begin to stream down her cheeks. Her shoulders shake with the weight of her pain and her lip trembles as she lets herself fall apart. She closes her eyes, and when she opens them, they’re not the yellow of the Sith that Gimrizh has seen every day for the past nine years. Instead, they’re an unfathomable and unfamiliar brown and Gimrizh wonders if she ever knew Yaina at all.

“Oh Gim…” Yaina whispers sadly, “There’s always a choice. This is mine.”

And then Yaina reaches for her lightsaber.

Before Gimrizh can so much as get ready to strike, Yaina’s pressing the hilt under her own jaw and _oh stars please no-_

Staring straight at her, brown locking with yellow, Yaina switches her saber on.

“ _NO!_ ”

~*~

Gimrizh is twenty.

She stands in front of Overseer Tremel, back rigid, hands behind her back, fack frozen. Her freshly inked tattoos stand out sharply on her face, harsh black lines gouged into her skin, one more sign marking her as an outsider.

“She still holds her ranking,” Rihne drones, talking about her as though she isn’t in the room or is too stupid to hear, “But she’s not improved in months.”

“Oh?” Tremel inquires. He too ignores her.

Rihne hands him a datapad file from his desk, “There was an incident a few months ago that resulted in the death of an acolyte who had previously rivaled her. Without a rival to test herself against, her progress has stagnated. I don’t think she’s the acolyte you’re looking for. And regardless, pushing any acolytes graduation up is unorthodox, to say the least.”

“Regrettably, I’m looking for a candidate now. I’m running out of time to present Darth Baras with a suitable apprentice, and I can’t worry about what’s orthodox or not.”

“Well if you need an apprentice, there’s a pureblood in the class year above-”

“No. This one is the acolyte I’m looking for.”

“You sure?”

“Trust me, Overseer Rihne, this one’s _strong_.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all of Gimrizh's backstory folks! Yay, no more mystery! Also, I really like the idea of having short one chapter snapshots into the past, so expect more (I may or may not already have written two for Vette and Quinn ssshhhh)
> 
> Again, Pierce still needs a first name, either Eren or Foris. So far Foris seems popular, but hey you never know. And he miiiiight show up next chapter (maybe). Vote!


	8. Begin Plan Zero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super huge shoutout to my new beta, FallenAscendant!  
> This chapter is kinda short, but there's some important stuff in it soo... Taris will be next chapter

“Pick an emotion,” Gimrizh says, kneeling on the floor of the cargo hold with her hands resting lightly in her lap. She steadies her breathing, in through her nose, out through her mouth. “A thought, a memory, a feeling. Anything will do. If there’s something you wish for guidance with, pick a related feeling. Do you have something chosen?”

Across the hold from her, Jaesa nods, her eyes closed and apparently deeply focused, “Yes, master.”

“Good.” She closes her eyes as well and tries to pick out the bundle of emotions and energy in the force that is her new apprentice, “Let it fill your mind and the force. Concentrate on it. Let whatever comes to mind happen, don’t try and push it.”

“You’re not going to ask me to clear away my thoughts?” Jaesa asks nervously. She’s worried she’s going to do it wrong, it’s obvious.

How _do_ the Jedi teach mediation? Clearly, not very well. “No. Let it clutter even, if that’s what you want.”

Jaesa settles down again and there’s peaceful silence. Despite technically being busy teaching, Gimrizh takes advantage of the time and the quiet to think and meditate herself. Much has happened to her in the past few days. She’s found a new apprentice, which she’s never had before. Baras promoted her to the rank of Lord. That was a bit more expected. Despite her only recently becoming an apprentice herself, she’s done more in the last few months than most apprentices do in years. Now - now she’s a Sith Lord. She imagines that Baras will be watching her and Jaesa far more carefully from now on.

No, even though she has gained a title, which comes with increased power, access, money, and most importantly, respect, it isn’t enough. She’s not strong enough to get out from under Baras’ thumb, and she’s not sure she ever will be. His former master is a key member of the Dark Council, he probably has the rest of the Dark Council either on his payroll or under surveillance. She knows first hand just how many spies he has out there. If she can’t overcome all those obstacles then no number of titles will matter. She still needs to keep doing what she’s been doing since she met Baras. Keep her head down, keep quiet, and follow orders.

Such a simple thing to do, in theory. And she just _had_ to go and ruin it by letting Jaesa Willsaam remain in the light.

She knows why she did it now. One yellow eye peeks open to look at Jaesa sitting across from her, quietly meditating, doing exactly as she instructed. The two of them have only known each other a few days and yet Gimrizh feels as though she’s known the girl for years. The open kindness in the face of adversity, the honest deep-down desire to _be_ and to _do_ good. No wonder meeting Jaesa felt like being punched in the stomach, she seems to resonate in the same way that Yaina did. Having Jaesa on her crew feels _right_. She’d make the same decision again in a heartbeat.

At least thinking about those similarities doesn’t make her head pound and her hearts stop anymore. She’d thought it would be stupid, that it’d just make her feel worse, or that somehow, by telling someone about Yaina the memories would lose importance. Like, if she shared the memories, they would slip away from her. That talking about Yaina was giving away parts of what she was, who she was. But it wasn’t like that. It had… helped.

Whatever idiot said talking about your problems helps might have actually been correct.

Instead of weakening her memories of Yaina, instead of cutting them up and giving parts of them away, instead… It had been like strengthening them. Like they were old and dusty and she cleaned them up to polish. Oh, it had still hurt. Every word she said to Quinn had felt like a needle burrowing into her skull but for some stupid reason she had felt better by the end of it. Lighter, maybe, like she was dragging something heavy around for years and managed to put it down for a few hours.

She feels surprisingly calm right now. Perhaps talking to Quinn about her past with Yaina had helped more than she thought- then she feels the pulse of the force at work. It’s Jaesa.

“Jaesa,” Gimrizh says, slowly opening her eyes. The waves of peace and contentment radiating off of Jaesa through the force have been affecting her emotional state, “You’re very calm.”

Jaesa blinks owlishly at her. The peaceful aura snaps out of the force as she asks, “Yes, master? Am I doing it wrong?”

Not particularly, she supposes. She’s just unused to experiencing such a calm meditative session. When she meditated with her fellow acolytes back on Korriban, it was usually just a time to focus and increase her rage, not to do anything like _relax_. But it isn’t exactly _bad_ , and to be honest, she doesn’t mind the the feeling of peace. “No,” she finally tells Jaesa. And actually, “You know, you don’t have to call me that. I would not protest if you addressed me by name.”

“But you _are_ my master,” she says, confused by the idea of not addressing Gimrizh as such.

Why does nobody call her by her damn name? Some days, Gimrizh really hates the formality of the universe. Even Vette calls her ‘boss’ or ‘sithyness’ or whatnot. Sure, she doesn’t _mind_ being called those things, but it’s not her name. “Oh well,” she says, deciding that it’s not worth pressing the issue, “It doesn’t matter, nevermind.”

Jaesa settles back down, and within a few minutes, the peace and calm begins to fill the room once again. Gimrizh closes her eyes again and consideres the most recent and most controversial addition to her crew.

Would Baras send her after another Jedi now that they are two Sith strong? They number one officer, a thief, and two Sith. They aren't a powerful force, but they are an effective strike team, exactly the sort of thing that Baras would send to take down Jedi. And she knows he still has many enemies in the Jedi Order. He had her fight Nomen Karr for him. Will he do the same again? His network of spies is now secure, she has no further business there. What's next for Baras? What will he now set his sights on?

He's an ambitious man, so perhaps he will attempt to join the Dark Council or something even bigger than that. She always got the feeling that Baras works best in the dark, hidden from the main gaze of the Empire, someone who runs a spy network in the underbelly of the galaxy. But he doesn't seem to want that. She knows he desires power. Perhaps his next move will be an effort to secure a seat for himself on the Council. If that _is_ his goal, what would he have her do to gain that seat? He'd have to produce one first, so maybe her next move is assassinating a Council member? She doesn't want to think that Baras is that foolish, but she's been feeling a tad paranoid since he had her fight Karr.

Did he know she would succeed? Was his decision to send her after him a calculated one because if she lived he would be victorious but also if she died? She wants to think that she still has use for Baras, but she also knows that he wouldn't care for even a second if he decides she has to die.

Gimrizh is so in tune with the force that she notices the moment someone approaches the cargo bay. It shatters her concentration and pulls her out of her thoughts.

She cracks her back and stands up, heading to the door. It slides open to reveal Quinn, his fist raised to knock. “Yes?” she asks.

“My lord,” he says, quickly lowering his hand, “Darth Baras is on the holo for you.”

“I’m there.” She scrambles out of the hold and makes her way to the communications room as fast as she can. They finally have a mission. At last, Baras is going to tell her about whatever scheme he’s concocted. Behind her, she can hear Jaesa and Quinn follow at her footsteps, and she can sense Vette already making her way over from the engine room. No need to gather everyone, then.

She punches the holo terminal and bows her head as Baras appears in front of her.

“Ah,” Baras says in a self-satisfied manner, “The latest lord in the Emperor’s arsenal returns. I have need of you.”

“What do you require of me, master?” she asks.

At last, some answers, or at least, a new scheme to raise new questions, “My master on the Dark Council, Darth Vengean, wants war. Not petty skirmishes that tiptoe around the Treaty of Coruscant. Open warfare. Vengean has tasked me with finding a way to compel the rest of the Council to tear up the treaty.”

Oh _no_. Stars no.

Of course she had never assumed that the treaty would last a significant amount of time, everyone in the galaxy knows that it has only ever been a temporary armistice. But she had thought that she would have more time. She hoped that maybe she could be old and retired before the treaty collapsed. Krething hells, it had only lasted ten years. That’s no time at all.

How can she stop this? _Can_ she stop it? “Does the task give you pause, master?”

“The Emperor signed the treaty for a reason, but no, apprentice. I see it as a great opportunity,” Baras tells her, striking down that poorly conceived idea. “I believe I have found a way to move the Dark Council and the Empire happily toward war.”

“Then I am all ears,” she says quietly, trying not to panic.

“Most think that our inability to find and defeat one man - General Karastace Gonn - kept us from outright victory and forced the negotiated peace,” So Baras has a plan to remove this general. He wouldn’t mention it if he didn’t, “General Gonn operates from the shadows, a phantom single-handedly preventing the fringe systems from falling to us. After years without a hint of his whereabouts, I’ve learned that he’s meeting on Nar Shaddaa with his traitorous Imperial agents. He maintains the fringe systems by anticipating our moves. These traitors supply his information. It cannot continue. You will go there and you will kill him.”

Like he doesn’t know that she’s already on Nar Shaddaa. His call, his timing, his mission. She’s a convenience for him. “That is fortuitous, master,” she replies, “I am currently docked at the Mezenti Spaceport on Nar Shaddaa. I can intercept the meeting as soon as possible.”

“Excellent,” he agrees, “I understand that you or your crew may have reservations against killing fellow Imperials. However, anyone meeting with General Gonn is guilty of treason and must be eradicated. We will not appear weak on this.”

“I will punish all who are aligned with him,” she assures Baras.

“And of course,” Baras continues, “without Gonn, the fringe systems will fall. Control of the outlying planets will be a great advantage. I will send coordinates for the meeting now. When you have finished your task, report back to me on Dromund Kaas. We will have much to discuss. Go, and deliver Vengean’s red carpet of war.”

“I will do as you ask, master,” she concedes as the call closes.

There’s silence for a brief moment and then Gimrizh takes a deep breath and turns to her crew. “You all heard Darth Baras. I’m… I’m heading out as soon as possible. If you want to come, meet me back here in ten minutes or else stay behind. It doesn’t matter to me. I understand if any of you have doubts about doing this. Dismissed.”

Vette sinks down into the couch and lets out a long breath. Toss up if she’ll come or not. Gimrizh wouldn’t blame Vette if she isn’t exactly enthusiastic to participate in breaking the Treaty of Coruscant. Quinn heads to the medbay, so he’s coming with her. She thought he would. Gimrizh heads to her quarters to grab her lightsabers, but Jaesa shoots her a worried look and follows at her heels.

Gimrizh lets Jaesa into her quarters with her and shuts the door behind them, “Is there something you want to speak to me about?” she asks.

“Master,” Jaesa starts nervously, her fingers fidgeting with her cloak, “I feel compelled to tell you - I’m uneasy fighting alongside diehard Imperials. It seems like a foolish risk - we’re always surrounded by the enemy. If it’s discovered that we’re not… that I’m not... “

Gimrizh looks her apprentice straight in the eye and tries to emphasize the importance of her words, “I will not allow anything to happen to you. Every precaution will be taken to ensure that the truth about you is protected. Just don’t discuss anything to do with you not being SIth unless you and I are in private.”

“Vette knows,” Jaesa blurts out, “I meant to tell you before now, only-”

“Vette’s fine. I trust her,” Gimrizh reassures her. And it is true, she does trust Vette. That’s unexpected, she isn’t used to trusting. But she finds that she trusts everyone on board, even Jaesa, despite only having known her for such a short time, “And besides,” she continues, “Vette is hardly an Imperial.”

“But around everyone else, I must pretend?” Jaesa asks. She looks so bleak, not doubting, but resigned to a bitter fate.

Gimrizh nods, “On _Horizon_ , feel free to be yourself. Off this ship, you must play the part.”

“I’ve always despised those who pretend to be what they are not,” she muses, “Now it seems I’ve joined their ranks.”

“You’re different than them,” Gimrizh says firmly, “people lie for their own gain. Think about why _you_ are doing this. No one else matters.”

Jaesa sighs and lets her back sag against the door, “I hear you, master. I will follow your lead. I’m going to show you that you made the right decision in taking me on.”

But she can still sense some reluctance from her apprentice. “I won’t force you to fight just yet. It’s best if you ease yourself into this new life,” Gimrizh tells her, “Why don’t you stay behind on the ship this time? Spend some time with Vette. I’ll take Quinn with me on this mission,” she cuts Jaesa off before the girl can protest, “I don’t want you to push yourself if you aren’t comfortable. A broken apprentice isn’t of use to anyone, least of all yourself.”

Relief breathes new life into Jaesa’s face, “Thank you master,” she says, “I’ll try and come to terms with all this while you are gone.”

“Talk to Vette about it, if you want,” Gimrizh tacks on as a bit of advice, “she’s surprisingly understanding.”

“Thank you,” Jaesa says one last time before skittering out of Gimrizh’s quarters.

Gimrizh dons her heavy synthleather tabard and clips her lightsaber belt over her clothes. If she reports to Baras after this, what will he think of her second saber? It’s unlikely that he wouldn’t notice it, but unless she activates it in his presence, he wouldn’t catch the significance of it’s blue blade. She supposes that she could just leave it behind on the ship once she reaches Kaas City.  

Great. To think this morning started out so nicely, too. She doesn’t want to break the treaty. She doesn’t want to end what little fragile peace is left in the galaxy. It’s times like this where she finds it easy to ignore all the progress that Baras has brought to the Empire and simply hate him for his boundless ambition and utter lack of empathy.

She double checks her gear and goes to find Vette.

The Twi’lek in question is polishing her blasters in the engine room. She glances up as Gimrizh enters, “What do you need?”

“It’s about Jaesa,” Gimrizh starts off, partially uncertain as to what she should say next. This isn’t her area of expertise, “She’s staying behind on this mission. Would you stay with her, please?”

“Sure,” Vette replies right away. There’s a suspicious look in her eye though, and Gimrizh feels like Vette knows a lot more than she does right now, “Why? Don’t get me wrong, spending time with Jaesa is hardly my idea of a _bad_ time, but she _is_ handy with a lightsaber. Which you know, is pretty convenient for you. Why do you not want her with you?”

Good question. Ten points to Vette. “She’s yet to adjust to this new life. I don’t want to push her into a violent situation when she is still unsure of herself.”

Vette blinks at her, “What?”

“She’s not emotionally stable,” Gimrizh elaborates, “and yes, I am well aware that Sith are often not, but we _work_ with our emotions. Jaesa clearly hasn’t come to terms with hers yet. The simple fact that she hasn’t left the ship in almost two weeks is proof enough. I am not going to let her break down in the middle of an important fight.”

“No,” Vette slowly starts to grin at her, “ _I_ know that. I’m just surprised _you_ noticed that. Good job, boss. You’ve started to pick up on ‘healthy emotional responses 101’. Now you can move on to ‘actually doing something healthy about those emotions 102’.”

Gimrizh glares at her, “Please Vette.”

“Annnnnd it’s ruined,” Vette laughs at her, “Yeah, don’t worry about it. I’ll look after Jaesa. I’ll even take her out of the ship for you. I’ll walk her, and feed her, and-”

“I’m _going_ ,” Gimrizh says pointedly, hurrying out of the engine room as Vette laughs behind her.

She heads to the medbay only to find that Quinn is already standing by the main door. She admires his punctuality.

“Quinn,” she greets him, “sorry to keep you waiting.”

“Not at all, my lord,” he replies, as though the very idea of her being late is offensive. He tries not to act any different around her, after their conversation a few nights ago, but she knows that whatever comadre they have between them has changed. He couldn’t have learned all that about her and _not_ see her differently. As she is with everything in life apparently, she’s not yet sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing. Quinn’s still just as formal and professional as ever, but she can tell that things are different between them.

“Let’s go.”

~*~

Malavai isn’t an idiot. He’s perfectly aware what the implications are of the Lord Gimrizh’s history. The information she provided him with hadn’t been excessive or particularly detailed, but she had told him enough for him to understand and he can fill in the rest himself. The obvious emotional ties she still has to her departed friend are made quite clear, and he’s certain that despite the circumstances surrounding her death, Gimrizh is still dearly attached to the Mirialan.

It’s a worrisome prospect for one simple, damning reason; the Mirialan had betrayed the Empire. And if the Lord Gimrizh believes that her friend was in any way correct in that decision…

Lord Baras has been informed of course. Malavai almost _didn't_ , almost said nothing, almost considered the information that she had shared with him to be somehow too personal or too private for it to fall under the category of what Baras had asked him to report on. But that thought had been the very reason he had decided to tell Baras everything. Malavai is loyal, _has to be_ loyal to Baras. And if he becomes too unprofessional with the Lord Gimrizh, grows too close to her, then his position as a spy is compromised. He informed Baras because if he hadn’t, he would be admitting some level of devotion to the Lord Gimrizh beyond what is decreed that an officer must give to a Sith and what Baras has ordered him to show.

As a result he must keep an even closer eye on her. Her friend was a young, suicidally depressed, mere acolyte and still managed to betray the Empire. If Gimrizh shares even a fraction of those beliefs, what could she do?

Not to say that he doubts her commitment to the Empire or to the Sith. From his time with her, he has seen nothing but loyalty and obedience towards Baras and he honestly thinks that she fights with the Empire’s best interests in mind. Even if sometimes her methods are unusual, he would never misconstrue that as disloyalty. He’s hardly one to comment on acting outside of standard procedure, not with his past. There’s another reason he readily informed Baras as soon as he gained this information. He knows how easily Gimrizh could be condemned for her unconventionality. And he knows, from experience, that what Baras cares about is not methods, but results. And she is undeniably effective.

Even now, she still obeys Lord Baras, and he _knows_ that she has no desire to break the Treaty of Coruscant.

They are taking a speeder to the Upper Industrial Sector to interrupt General Gonn’s meeting, a run-down, Republic run area of the planet. The Lord Gimrizh hasn’t spoke much during the flight, instead resorting to her nervous ticks; fidgeting with her hair or clothing, and staring out the taxi as though the buildings passing them by will have some answers.

To be fair, Malavai has his doubts about this as well. He isn’t sure what to think. On one hand, he has confidence that if Darth Baras succeeds and draws the Empire into reigniting the war, there isn’t a hope of the Republic being victorious. Eventually, the Empire will crush their enemies. And yet. The Treaty of Coruscant was signed for a reason. The last war taxed the Empire greatly, and the ten years since haven’t been quite enough time to recover to full strength. The odds are high that yes, they’ll go to war, and yes, they’ll win, but the Empire will be greatly weakened by the end of it.

It’s a calculated risk. Will they be strong enough to crush whatever rebellions remain after the Republic falls? Can they count on the Hutt Cartel, or the Voss, or any third party staying out of the war? They will win, but at what cost? What margin of error lies between victory and defeat?

The speeder comes to a stop at a run-down taxi pad in the Industrial Sector.

"Darth Baras' coordinates point to a safe house just ahead, my lord," Malavai informs her as they make their way through the streets.

"Thank you," she acknowledges. The Lord Gimrizh is unperturbed by the number of criminals that make these streets their home. Using the force, she waves her hand in front of a Republic guard's face and in an instant, the guard moves out of the way and allows them entrance to General Gonn's bunker.

"That was easy," Gimrizh remarks, slowly moving through the halls of the safe house.

He's inclined to agree with her. There are no guards besides the one outside, and the security measures are negligible. Clearly, Gonn relies on stealth, hiding under the radar, instead of impressive securities. "I doubt a stronger security retinue could withstand you regardless, my lord," he comments.

They encounter a bulkhead wall, built into the bunker. Gimrizh draws her lightsaber and puts the blade through the lock, leaning casually against the blade as it melts the durasteel. "Flatterer," she remarks flippantly.

The comment nags at him. He doesn't mean to attempt and worm his way into her good graces through flattery, not at all, even though many in the Empire treat Sith in that manner. He's merely being honest. While he might be observant of her loyalties, he's well aware that she's a powerful force in combat. How else could she have been capable of defeating Nomen Karr, a Jedi that even Darth Baras was unable to kill.

What few chunks of white-hot steel are left from the lock fall to the ground with a clatter. “Shall we?” Gimrizh drawls, gesturing to the now useless door.

“Ah-” Malavai steps back and lets her take point, “After you, my lord.”

“How polite of you.” She puts her hand flat on the door and then pushes on it. The metal screeches with protest even as it crumples away from her with the ease of flimsiplast.

Behind the door is the meeting they were sent to interrupt. It’s not a substantially large group, just a small troop of Republic soldiers and a couple of Chiss agents. Traitors to the Empire, he thinks viciously.

And there, in the middle of it, is General Karastace Gonn. Malavai recognizes the man from the moment he sees him. Old Republic propaganda from the war had featured the General heavily, his face had flown on banners during the war, his speeches had been broadcasted on the holonet. It would be impossible for Malavai not to remember what the man looked like. Despite his worries about what the cost of restarting the war might be, he realizes that he has absolutely no issues with murdering the General. Gonn has single handedly been responsible for a great number of Imperial deaths. Evening the score a little is an appealing prospect.

“Men, we’ve got trouble!” one of the soldiers yells as soon as they catch sight of them. “Rally around the General!”

The small contingent raises their weapons to fire and the Lord Gimrizh sighs. She lifts her hand almost lazily and rips the blasters from their hands. “So sorry about that,” she says flatly.

General Gonn pushes his way to the front, standing in front of the soldiers this time, “Stay back,” he tells them, before turning back to the two of them. He glances at Malavai for only a second, but it’s enough to make Malavai want to shoot him instantly. “I think I can guess who you are, Sith” Gonn says to Gimrizh, “For all of Darth Baras’ covert manipulations, you have banged around the galaxy rather loudly. And now, I suppose Baras has found me. I’ll have to be careful moving forward.”

“No one can hide from me and my master,” Gimrizh replies, calmly crossing her arms and staring coolly at the General.

Gonn shrugs, “I was successful before. I’ll be successful again.”

There won’t _be_ an again.

“Uh- Sith?” the Chiss delegate speaks up, nervous, twitchy - as he should be, “You _are_ Darth Baras’ apprentice? We, uh, we know of you. This, uh, isn’t how it seems.”

“What is it then?” Gimrizh asks, her voice deceivingly soft, “I’m all ears.”

The Chiss darts his eyes around the room, anxiously wringing his hands, “We, uh, cooperated with General Gonn in order to, uh, learn what he was up to. So that we could betray him, at the right time.”

What an obvious lie, “Nicely played Fawste,” Gonn says bitterly, “You’re a true lowlife. When this is over, so is our alliance.”

“I’m going to have to give that little lie a 0 out of 10,” Gimrizh tells the Chiss, pointing at the blasters that no longer are in their hands. “You know that there’s nothing you can do to defeat me. But I would appreciate a bit more effort put into such an obvious last ditch move. As it is, you are _all_ traitors to the Empire and no amount of begging or pleading will convince me to spare a single one of you.”

They are armed. The traitors aren’t.

Gimrizh leaps for the Chiss and Malavai moves to engage the Republic soldiers. It’s probably the easiest fight he’s ever been in. An unarmed opponent is the best advantage he could have had. There are three soldiers and he only wastes three bolts bringing them down.

The bodies hit the floor within moments. But the General is still alive.

“Easy,” Gimrizh says, her saber flashing red and decapitating the last of the Chiss traitors.

Gonn tries to back away, but Malavai is between him and the door. The General puts his back to his desk and tries to fumble around for anything that he could use as a weapon. It’s futile, of course. There isn’t a chance that the General is getting away from this.

There’s a hiss as Gimrizh deactivates her lightsaber, “Quinn, why don’t you deal the final blow?”

He isn’t entirely sure why she’s letting him steal her kill, but he’s grateful. Perhaps he was not as subtle as he could have been in regards to his intense dislike of the General. Ridding the galaxy of this detestable General will be a public service.

“You honor me, my lord,” he says in thanks.

He gives her a respectful bow before turning his full and undivided attention to Gonn. In one swift, satisfying motion, he aims his blaster at the General’s head and shoots. There’s a smoking crater in the man’s forehead in the aftermath of the bolt blast. Gonn’s body sags and slowly slides down to the floor, dead eyes open and gaping at nothing. And then there is one less Republic mastermind running around the galaxy.

“Let’s head back to _Horizon,_ ” Gimrizh suggests to fill the silence after the General falls, “I’ll send a message to Darth Baras, inform him of General Gonn’s demise and alerting him that we’ll be traveling to Dromund Kaas as soon as possible.”

~*~

“I’m not sure about this,” Jaesa says for maybe the hundredth time since Vette has dragged her off the ship. It’s actually not been a hundred times even though it feels that it has. It’s only been seven. Vette’s counted.

Seven times or not, Vette refuses to relent. “Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing,” she reassures her.

And she _does_ know what she’s doing. Even though she kinda hates to admit it, Gimrizh is right. It’s been almost two weeks since Jaesa joined the gang, and since then she hasn’t left the ship once. She just stays in her room and reads books about Sith philosophy, or practices lightsaber combat and meditates, sometimes with the boss, sometimes without. It’s not healthy. And yeah, Vette knows why she’s reluctant to leave. Jaesa probably sees that going out of the ship means she has to put on a mask and start pretending to be someone who she isn’t. To an extent, she’s _right_ , because there probably are a lot of people who would tell on her if they found out she isn’t a real Sith.

And that’s where the sheer brilliance of Vette’s plan comes into play. If Jaesa wants to be herself, then that’s okay. If she needs to leave the ship, get some fresh air, eat something besides ship food, talk to people who aren’t crew, then Vette can ensure that happens as well. If they were on any other planet, then it might be a bit more difficult for Vette to do this, but they aren’t. They’re on Nar Shaddaa and Vette knows the planet like the back of her hand.

“Ta-da!” Vette trills as they come to a stop along the shadier back streets of the Promenade.

Jaesa looks at the sign. She looks back at Vette, “This is a cantina?”

Grinning from ear to ear, Vette steps back and lets Jaesa enter first. “Trust me,” she tells her, “I know a guy. You can be whoever you want here.”

There’s still nervousness on Jaesa’s face, but she heads into the cantina all the same.

As it’s almost four in the afternoon, the cantina isn’t exactly bustling. Likely the place won’t get busy for another few hours and even then this joint has never been a real hot spot of a cantina. When Vette was younger and first learning the streets of this planet, she had wondered how Darun was able to keep running the place and keep his influx of very fine liquors, when he had so few customers. It’s obvious to her now. Like a thousand other cantinas on Nar Shaddaa, Darun gets the nexu’s share of his credits by contracting his cantina as a front for gangs. Even Vette and her Twi’lek gang use Darun’s place as their base of operations.

There’s a passed-out drunk human collapsed over a back table, and two Nautolans playing a silent yet furious game of sabacc in the corner. Apart from that, the place is damn empty. Vette slides on over to the counter and grabs a seat. After a brief moment of hesitation, Jaesa sits next to her.

“Didn’t you just skip town?” Darun asks, catching sight of the two of them. He leans on the counter in front of them and starts getting Vette a glass. Four in the afternoon is never too early for Vette to start drinking.

Vette grins at him, “Skipped and then came back. It’s a temporary thing. Hells, at the end of the day, we’re probably off to Dromund Kaas.”

“Damn,” he comments. There’s a clink as he sets down a tiny shot glass of tihaar in front of her, “You really get around.” He tilts his head towards Jaesa, “Who’s the girl?”

Jaesa politely bows her head towards him, and okay, there’s an overkill. He’s a bartender, not a lord. “I’m Jaesa Willsaam,” she tells him, “I’m…” she glances helplessly at Jaesa, like a plea for a  bailout.

Vette metaphorically swoops in to save the day, “She works with me on that damn gorgeous ship that I’ve got. She’s new.”

“Ah, gotcha,” Darun sizes her up, and then pulls out a second glass and starts mixing a drink, combining some tequila, a decent triple sec, and squeezing fresh limes in there. He rolls the edge of the glass in crystallized sugar before he pours the drink and sets the glass down in front of Jaesa with an expectant smile, “I’m pretty good at guessing people’s tastes. Tell me what you think.”

Jaesa takes a sip, thinks about it, and then smiles that absolutely stunning smile at Darun, “I love it! This is really good!”

He tosses a casual wink at her, “I always nail it. Vette can attest to that. First time she came in I could tell she was a whiskey kind of gal, poured her a glass of my personal favorite Corellian, and she hasn’t gone back since.” He pauses to refill Vette’s glass, “It’s one of the many things that makes me such a damn successful business owner. I’m good like that. You Alderaanian?”

“I-” Jaesa stutters, “Yes. How can you tell?”

“Accent,” he says simply. “You don’t dress all fancy, but you got a couple of their speech quirks that some of the nobles use. Guessing you’re not a noble yourself, though?”

“No, not really,” she admits, “I was… I was a handmaiden for some time. My parents desired for me to marry into a wealthy family and deliver them from poverty, but that wasn’t… It wasn’t in the cards for me, I suppose.”

He nods thoughtfully, “That’d explain the accent. What’d you do? Run away from home?”

“Stars, Darun,” Vette rolls her eyes at him, “Could you be any more nosey? Do you need to know her blood type, too, or will you settle for swiping her fingerprints from the glass?”

He gives her a look that says he knows exactly what she’s doing but that he’ll let it slide. That’s one of the reasons Vette likes him. He might be a nosey, no good, thieving criminal, but all the best people are anyways, and he’s good at knowing when not to force an issue. He’s a decent sort. Vette’s still not letting him anywhere near _Horizon_ , though. Who knows where he’d run off to in that ship once she turns her back.

“Why don’t I give you two some privacy, then?” he gives Vette a wink, sets the bottle of tihaar on the counter for her, and slides out of their space.

“Sorry about that,” Vette hastily apologizes to a somewhat stunned Jaesa, “He’s a good sort of scoundrel, but he’s got a mouth like a Corellian freighter; never stops running.”

Jaesa waves it off, even though Vette can tell it bugs her a little, “It’s fine. He seemed nice. And he did make me a drink. Besides, I know that I don’t appear as either a standard Alderaanian, or Jedi, or Sith. I understand that I might be an object of curiosity-”

Right then and there Vette stops her. “Lesson one,” she says firmly, holding up a finger, “Never refer to yourself as an object.”

“But-” Jaesa tries, and then trails off, “It’s just a saying.”

“You say something for long enough, you start believing it,” Vette tells her. It’s one of the things Vette has found to be universally true. When she called herself a slave, even in her own head, she _felt_ like a slave, through and through. Words are more than just sounds, “You’re not an object, okay? You’re a person, and don’t forget it. You don’t have to be ‘a Jedi’ or ‘a Sith’, or whatever you think that means. Just be yourself.”

Jaesa stares into her glass like it might hold all the answers. It’s a familiar expression, one that Vette has seen on her own face a dozen times over the years. That constant wondering, that uncertainty. Not just the self-doubt, but the ongoing wheel of questions churning away inside. The question ‘what am I? Am I _this_ thing that others say I am?’

Am I a slave? Am I a Sith? Am I a Jedi?

“It’s easy,” Jaesa says at last, “for me to see who other people really are. Right now, if I wished, I could find out the deepest secrets of what makes you _you_. When I was a Jedi, I thought that I knew what I was doing, that I knew what I had signed up for. It was a lie, of course. But it was easy to think of myself as a Jedi. Now, I must become a Sith, the antithesis of everything I once was. I constantly feel off balance.”

Vette abandons her drink and puts her arm around Jaesa’s shoulders, slowly, just in case she’s as weird about touchy-feely stuff as the boss is. She's not apparently, and Jaesa leans into the touch. “When I stopped being a slave, the first time,” she explains, “I felt something similar. Like, who am I now that I’m not a slave?”

“I was a Jedi,” Jaesa agrees. She hugs her arms tightly, “Now I’m not. Am I still a Jedi, pretending to be a Sith, or am I a Sith who was pretending to be a Jedi?”

Vette gently pats her hand, going for something reassuring, “You don’t have to be one of those options, you know? You can just be Jaesa Willsaam.”

“Is Jaesa Willsaam enough?” she asks, in a whisper so quiet that it almost breaks Vette’s heart.

It is. And she’ll make Jaesa realize that, too. “I’ll shoot anyone that says otherwise,” Vette promises, “even if I have to shoot every Sith and Jedi in the galaxy.”

A tiny giggle escapes Jaesa’s lips, “That’s rather a lot of fighting.”

“Maybe I’ll only shoot the really bad ones,” Vette teases, “and just rough the other ones up a bit.”

Jaesa takes a giggly sip of her drink and Vette beams at her. If fighting Jaesa’s doubt takes a thousand jokes, Vette’ll do that too. There’s something so _good_ about Jaesa, something that Vette’s seen since that first holo where Jaesa bargained for the lives of the people she cares about without a thought for her own safety. Someone that selfless and kind deserves better than living with guilt and doubt.

~*~

Dromund Kaas is the same as Gimrizh remembers it to be.

The rain lightly drizzles down, a constant patter upon the streets, a backdrop of white noise that paints this planet. The skies are a rich and heavy grey, fueling the downpour. Her heavy boots splash in puddles as she makes her way to the Sith Sanctum. Thin rivulets of water run down the sides of the street and down into drainpipes, going miles and miles down in the bottom on Kaas City. The entirety of the city has a complex drainage system to prevent any flooding from the unending rain, using rainwater for power, engineering, even recycled for drinking water. It’s a testament for what the Empire can do. Nothing like this exists on Coruscant. She doubts their senate could put their heads together long enough to agree on such a thing.

Dromund Kaas is such a downcast place. It’s always cold and wet, there’s no sunshine, no heat. Just storms and lightning and rain. It should be bleak and dismal but it’s not. It’s the opposite of Korriban. Gimrizh feels as though she and this planet have an understanding in that sense, she may never love this place like she loves the sheer beauty of Alderaan, but she does love that it is nothing like Korriban.

She’s all by herself now. She enters the corridors of Darth Baras’ administrative complex completely alone.

They’ll likely be on Dromund Kaas for a few days, so she went ahead and gave the rest of her crew leave. Jaesa’s gone to the spacescaper where her parents are now set up, and she doesn’t know where Vette or Quinn went. All three of them should go and enjoy the last few days of peace they might see before she and her master reignite the worst war that’s ever raged through this galaxy.

Stars. She never thought she’d do this. There has always been the knowledge in the back of her mind that the Empire wouldn’t let the Republic go free, that the Treaty of Coruscant would be ripped to shreds sooner rather than later, but…

She never thought it’d be _her_.

She flashes her ID card to the scanner outside the door of Baras’ office. It gives her a beep and opens the door for her.

What she steps in on is a holo call between Baras and some other Sith. Her master is for once, humbling himself in front of whoever’s on the call, and she catches the tail end of whatever it is Baras is saying.

“- It was, Lord Vengean,” Baras finishes. Vengean. So this is her master’s master, the one pulling the strings of the movement to break the treaty and convince the Dark Council to restart the war, “The fringe systems are now ripe for the taking. With General Gonn out of the way, the Republic is short one spymaster as well as their first line of defense for the fringe systems.”

Vengean seems to agree. He looks pleased at least, and she can read his expressions easily enough as he doesn’t wear a mask as Baras does. “Such an advantage will prod the rest of the Council out of passivity. They will see - war is the only answer. You have delivered to me what I most crave.”

Gimrizh can’t keep listening in on this meeting. It’s certain that Baras already knows she is there and trying to keep quiet would only make her look guilty of eavesdropping. She steps forward so that she’s within range of the holo and drops to one knee, “Pardon the interruption, my lords.”

The look Vengean gives her is one that an exterminator gives to a roach crawling near his feet. “Who is this, Baras?” he asks with an air of distinct distaste.

Baras turns his head minutely so that she thinks he’s looking at her for the briefest of moments before he returns his full attention to his master, “My mightiest apprentice, my lord,” he says, “And the killer of General Gonn.”

Why is he giving her the credit? Would the lie just be too much of a hassle to maintain, or does Baras not want or need the prestige of having been the one to deal the final blow? Maybe he views it as being the same, that her actions will be attributed to him anyways, and as such the rewards will fall to him regardless of whether or not he tells the truth.

“And clearly a dutiful minion who knows the meaning of respect,” Vengean comments. Good. That’s exactly what she’s aiming for. “Rise, young thing. You have served your master - and your master’s master - well.”

Keeping her head bowed, even as she stands, she replies, “It is my privilege, master.”

Vengean passes her over as quickly as he acknowledged her, “I’m impressed with your choice in apprentice, Baras. It is time. I will send my destroyer to the fringe systems and they will be mine before anyone is the wiser. The order is given, Baras. Enact Plan Zero. That will be all. Vengean out.”

The holo goes out and she’s left wondering what in the hells is Plan Zero.

“Excellent,” Baras says, almost to himself. He’s gleeful, she’s so rarely heard that level of sheer enjoyment from him and it’s worrisome. “I’ve waited a long time for this order,” he turns to her now, “Apprentice. Plan Zero is the systematic elimination of the Republic’s top military leaders. A preemptive strike that will leave the enemy headless. The targets are the Empire’s most accomplished adversaries. And not to be taken lightly.”

There’s nothing she can do to stop this war. “Who are the targets you would send me after, my master?”

He clasps his hands behind his back and strides in front of her, pacing the room like a contented predator, “There are two I must still locate, Admiral Monk who commands the Republic fleet, and Jedi Knight Xerender, who leads an elite squad of commandos. But the other targets - the four generals of the Republic’s strategic command - are confirmed to be on the planet Taris. They are known as the War Trust. Normally, they’re never together in one place. This is an incredible opportunity.”

“Then I shall prepare to leave for Taris as soon as you command it,” she says.

“Remember,” Baras warns, “do not underestimate them. The War Trust has stretched the Republic thin and fought us to a standstill time and again. They are master strategists. Your targets will be Generals Faraire, Minst, Durant, and Frelka. Each will likely be protected by their own elite guard, and they have all the Republic forces on Taris at their disposal.”

She’s going to have to start a war. “I will bring the Republic to its knees,” she promises, and unfortunately knows that she must follow through on that pledge.

“If the War Trust can be killed, then yes, that will be the effect it causes,” Baras agrees, “Moff Hurdenn leads the Imperial forces on Taris. I will inform him of your arrival and he will provide whatever resources he can. Make ready your ship, apprentice. Taris, and the war, await you.”

She bows once more to him, and adds, “Yes, my master.”

“Go,” Baras instructs, gesturing towards the door.

No more pressure is needed, she flees his offices like the coward that she is.

Normally she would enjoy the opportunity to paw through the data stored in the massive Sith library, or examine the new lightsaber prototypes, but today is not a normal day and any of those amusements seem so trivial now. Even the comforting tides of the dark side here fall flat on her today. She’s about to start a war. Not just any war, but _the_ war.

She’s so distracted that when she steps out into the rain and sends for a taxi, she almost punches in the spaceport as her destination before remembering that it would be pointless. She did, after all, give her crew twenty-four hours of leave, and no one would be there at the _Horizon_. Just Toovee, puttering around and performing standard maintenance, and the port workers refilling the ship’s fuel cells. That shouldn’t bother her. The idea of an empty ship, of no one there to simply be around, shouldn’t be that unsettling to her. But it is right now.

Her fingers tap aimlessly on the destination input terminal, a sharp beat that increases rapidly in speed as she tries to think of where she could possibly go. Technically she does own a luxury apartment in Kaas City, one that was assigned to her when she became Baras’ apprentice. But she’s never even stepped inside it and it would be unfurnished and bare. And again, there wouldn’t be anyone around.

She doesn’t _do_ this, doesn’t seek out contact. It’s not _like_ her. She isn’t some clingy, emotional chit, for star’s sake, she’s a Sith. Violent, brutal, murdering Sith. Not someone who needs people to comfort her like a damn child.

Maybe she could find Vette.  

The Twi’lek often has a knack for emotional rubbish, maybe she could find her and not even talk, just sit in her company. But no, she doesn’t have any idea where Vette is. Vette can keep a low profile when she wants to and Gimrizh knows she won’t have a whole lot of luck trying to hunt down Vette. Theoretically she could try and sense where Vette is, but she’s always been pretty shit at sensing and Kaas City is just such a massive place. That’d be a dead end.

She could always try and find Jaesa. If anyone can understand the tear between her loyalty and her emotions, it would be Jaesa. Only she can’t find Jaesa because Jaesa is in the middle of visiting her parents - that’s too personal, too private, especially since she had been the one to put her parents on Dromund Kaas to begin with. It’d make her feel like a pathetic waste of space to do so.

No, Vette and Jaesa are out. But… Quinn used to live in Kaas City. His personnel file lists his place of birth as being in the city and she knows he went to school here. Maybe he has a home here that he went back to. Despite spending nearly all her waking hours on the same ship as him, she keeps finding that she knows less and less about who he is.

Following this peculiar whim, she pulls out her own datapad and connects to the holonet. It’s a matter of moments for her to access the Imperial Census Bureau. One sweep of her ID card is enough to grant her authorization to view Quinn’s files. There’s not much that’s available, it’s not military records and there’s just the basics of his name and rank. But there is a listed address, and that’s all she’s looking for.

It’s an apartment in one of the many military housing complexes that are primarily licensed to officers instead of civilians. Without thinking over this absurdly stupid plan more carefully, she punches the address into the taxi terminal and waits as a speeder and a pilot droid pull up to take her to her destination.

She gets in the speeder before she can regret it and it zips off through the city’s skyline.

It doesn’t take long for the taxi to drop her off at the landing pad of a massive spacescraper. She’s so far down from the top of the city that not much rain gets on her in the few minutes it takes for her to pay the taxi and head inside. She double checks the address on her datapad and then steps into the elevator, punching the button for one of the highest floors.

When she steps out on the correct floor she has a brief moment where she thinks that it would probably be best for her to turn around right now and head back to the ship and just be alone damn it, but then she’s standing in front of the correct door and pressing the door chime and it’s too late.

The door slides open and a man who is definitely not Quinn leans against the door frame. “Can I help you?” he asks.

Did she get the wrong address? No, this is what the holonet says is correct. She hesitates and then, almost hoping that this is the wrong place, inquires, “I’m looking for Quinn?”

“Yeah?” The stranger stands there, expectantly.

She’s an idiot. Now that she’s looking, she can see some similarities, the same nose and mouth, the same pale blue eyes. This man is lighter haired and lanky, more scruffy looking, but it’s not like there’s no resemblance, “You’re Lucian?”

“The one and the only,” he agrees, “but I’m guessing you’re here for my brother?”

She doesn’t want to intrude, “Yes - I can leave if -”

He waves her concerns off with a casual flick of his hand. “Nah, come on in,” he steps back and lets her nervously follow him inside the apartment. But she follows Lucian into the foyer anyways, because running away now would be pure and simple cowardice and she’s kind of stuck. It’s actually a very nice apartment, she thinks. It’s built with the same nods to Imperial architecture as the rest of the city, but there’s furniture and a few sparse decorations that make it feel lived in. The place is also meticulously clean and organized, which for some reason reassures her. Definitely the sort of place she could see Quinn living in.

“Let me take you into the kitchen,” Lucian says, steering her down a hall, “Mal ran out for an errand or something, but dinner’s in the gasser, so I’m supposed to be watching and making sure it doesn’t burn. Feel free to stay and eat, if you want.”

 _Kind_ , she remembers, _strong willed, determined_. Lucian seems like an easy person to like, just as resolved as Quinn is but more amicable and easy-going. “Alright,” she agrees quietly.

“Great!” Lucian leads her into the next room, the kitchen. She’d say it’s impressive, but the only other kitchens that she’s ever been in have been the one on _Horizon_ and the massive cafeteria back in the Institute. Here there are large pans hanging on the walls, a couple of racks filled with tiny jars of she doesn’t know what, spices maybe. There’s a shiny stone counter with neatly organized transparisteel jars and containers. A large gasser sits with a heavy tray inside, emitting heat into the room. She must have walked in right in the middle of them making dinner. This is ridiculously surreal.

“Have you ever had Nabooian braised nerf?” Lucian asks her, gently pushing her towards a seat at the counter. “Nabooian food is objectively the best, even though people say Corellian trumps all other cuisine, they’re wrong. Nabooian food is just lighter and they do something with more spices, Corellian is so _heavy_. What do you think?”

It’s a ploy to try and get her to loosen up, but it’s sort of working. “I have no idea,” she answers honestly, “I’ve never had either. I’ve spent my life mostly eating ration bars and protein packs.”

He fakes over the top outrage, “That is no way to live.”

“Life on a starship,” she corrects.

He leans on the counter across from her, “Really? They let a sub-species onto a destroyer? I mean, I’m not…” he makes a confusing gesture with his hands, “... not a speciesist, not that I’m against the establishment, or anything. Just a bit surprised.”

Oh. She left her lightsabers back on the ship. He has no idea that she’s a Sith. The idea is somewhat refreshing, actually. “I suppose,” she says vaguely, “Do you know when Quinn will be back?”

Lucian shrugs, “Nah. Soon, I guess. He’s too much of a perfectionist to let himself burn dinner though, so, there’s that. If you need to leave a message for him, I can grab some flimsy and a lightpen?”

As if she could just pass on the message of ‘oh hey, we’re about to go start a war’. “No,” she quickly turns him down, “Thank you, but I need to speak with him in person. I understand if you wish for me to wait outside-”

“Please, I’d be a shit brother if I kicked his girlfriend out on the streets,” he protests.

She chokes on air, “I’m- no- that’s not-”

Lucian bursts into laughter, “Sorry, I’m not trying to be mean. Bad joke, I promise,” he grabs a couple of tumblers from the kitchen and fills them up with water. He slides one across the countertop to her, “I get it- strictly professional. That’s more Mal’s type anyway.”

She should not be asking this question. She does anyway, “He has a type?”

“I’m not saying anything,” he says mischievously, “but all his past girlfriends have been med students, back when he was in school. I said nothing,” he gives her an examining look, “I’m guessing you’re not a medic? Again, got nothing against you, but if sub-species aren’t really allowed to serve on destroyers, they sure as hell aren’t allowed to become medical officers,” he thinks on that for a moment before amending, “Unless they’re Chiss. But Chiss are kind of a gray area, I’ve even got a Chiss in my squad.”

“I’m no medic,” she tells him, “and you’re a pilot, correct? Do you fly anything with a bigger engine than a ISF?”

He grins, “I can fly just about anything. If you know Mal, you know he’s a great pilot, but I’m _better_. We mostly get ISFs, cause they’re cheap and got great maneuverability, don’t let that fool you though. I’ve been up in most kinds of ships, freighters, cruisers, you name it. I’ve even professionally flown a fair bit of in-goo stuff too, sky-hoppers, mostly.”

“But mostly standard interceptors,” she confirms.

“Mostly ISFs,” Lucian agrees with a nod, “They’re good for what we use ‘em for but I’d sell my soul for something with a damn hyperdrive,” he briefly frowns at her before the smile returns to his face, “You’re not a pilot though, right?”

She shakes her head, “I can get by, but I don’t have much skill.”

“Huh,” he leans back against the conservator and the assessing look makes its comeback. She can see the resemblance, that same critical eye that picks apart details. The difference is that Quinn can read her without being so obvious. “So…” Lucian tries, mulling over his words carefully, “you’re not a pilot, and you’re not a medic, but you know Malavai? What, did you work for him back when he was assigned to Balmorra?”

“Something like that,” she says noncommittally. “We met on Balmorra, just before his promotion.”

Lucian frowns into his cup, “Do you know anything about that?” he asks, “Mal’s promotion, I mean. I know you probably don’t know anything, but it seemed kind of strange to me.”

She does a double take, “Strange?”

“Well…” he thinks it over, “Mal was stuck being a Lieutenant for _years_ , when any decent commanding officer would have realized that he deserved a promotion a long time ago. I always figured that there was _someone_ high up out to get him,” Gimrizh pauses - Lucian doesn’t know exactly what happened with Moff Broysc, “So I don’t know why someone finally decided to give him a promotion out of the blue.”

If Quinn doesn’t want his brother knowing anything more about the work he’s done for Baras, then she’s not going to go behind his back. He must have a good reason for keeping Lucian in the dark, it’s not her place to question that. Besides, she can understand not wanting anyone else to get wrapped up in Baras’ web of lies and deception. “It was a bit fast,” she admits, “but I think it was a long time coming. Quinn is an exceptional officer. He more than deserved this promotion.”

Lucian doesn’t quite seem to buy that, “He won’t tell me what he’s doing now, you know? Just that he’s working for some Sith on a ship.”

“Much of what the Sith do is classified,” she says. She doesn’t want to lie to him, but she wants to know what he thinks. Without him having to censor his words because she’s in a higher position than him. That’s what she wishes Quinn would do. Tell her what he thinks without hiding behind professionalism and rigid military structure.

“Fair enough,” Lucian agrees, “I just worry, you know? I worry about whatever crazy classified shit he gets up to and he worries about me getting my ass blown out of the sky.”

That’s what siblings do, “I know the feeling,” she says slowly, “I… had a sister. I worried about her too.”

“Siblings,” he comments with a dramatic roll of his eyes, “always getting into trouble. At least I used to worry about my brother being stuck in a no-end station on Balmorra. Now, I’m worried if some psycho Sith gets pissed off and sticks him with a lightsaber.”

There’s no _way_ he would be saying any of this if he knew who she is. “Right.”

He goes back to playing the guess who she is game. He has good instincts, she’ll give him that, “So. If you’re not a pilot, or a medic, and you worked for Malavai on Balmorra and now you’re on Imperial Center running messages…” he grins at her, “Ensign. You’re totally an ensign.”

A familiar signature enters her sensory range like a footprint made in the sand. “Quinn’s back,” she says, turning towards the foyer.

They can hear the sound of the front door sliding open and footsteps. Lucian ducks his head around the corner.

“Hey Mal!” he calls out, “There’s a hot alien chick here to see you!”

She briefly dies of complete mortification.

There’s a brief clatter one room over and then she can hear Quinn’s voice, “What are you-” he steps into the room and sees her. There’s a moment of complete shock and then a blush slowly spreads across his face, “My lord. I…”

It’s a good thing that he isn’t carrying anything, because she thinks he would drop something in surprise. Hells, this is the first time she’s ever seen Quinn out of uniform. There’s not much of a difference actually, he’s still wearing grey and black, but the neatly pressed military uniform is replaced with slacks and a long sleeved shirt. It’s a nice change, actually, she kind of likes the difference. He looks more casual, although the effect is a bit ruined by how stiff and tense her unexpected presence makes him.

“I apologize for showing up unannounced,” she says honestly - this has been a very spur of the moment sort of dumb idea, “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just came to tell you what our new orders are, and Vette and Jaesa are out, and -” she takes a deep breath. It only now occurs to her that this is the first time she’s ever been inside someone else’s house. “I apologize for the interruption.”

“There’s no interruption, my lord,” Quinn says hastily, “I assure you.”

Lucian looks between the two of them and his jaw falls open, “Shit.”

Quinn turns on his brother and sighs, rubbing his temples, “I sincerely hope that you didn’t say anything distasteful to Lord Gimrizh?”

One of her hearts skips a beat. That’s the first time he’s said her name. He’s never introduced her to anyone before, and when he talks to her he sticks to her title, so she’s never heard him say her name before. She likes the sound of it. She is a bit worried though, just because Lucian is looking at her like she’s about to try and murder him.

“I called you an ensign…” he whispers in shock, “And a hot alien chick… and I said Sith were insane… Oh stars please don’t kill me.”

Gimrizh brushes it off, “Don’t worry. I’m more likely to express my disapproval through scathing commentary, not lightsaber.”

Lucian blinks twice and then bursts into laughter, “I like you!” he says at last, “Mal, you’ve got good taste in Sith, I approve.”

“Lucian!” Quinn sharply reprimands, his face red.

“No, no, it’s fine,” she says, “Really Quinn, I don’t mind.” And she doesn’t. She finds that she enjoys Lucian’s company and it was quite nice to speak to someone who wasn’t aware that she is Sith. So often she feels as though people censor themselves when around her, simply to avoid the possibility of her strangling them out of annoyance. To be fair, she completely understands why people act like that. There are many Sith, including Baras, who would do that, would thoughtlessly kill an underling because they disagreed with them. She dislikes that habit, but it’s not her place to question.

“Regardless,” Quinn tries, seeming very nervous, “please accept my sincere apologies, my lord.”

She waves it off, “Honestly, it’s fine. I just came to inform you that we’ll be heading to Taris in the morning. We are to rendezvous with Moff Hurdenn once we reach the planet and he’ll provide us with the information that we need to complete our mission. I don’t know how long we’ll be stuck there, though.”

“What objective did Lord Baras assign us?” he asks, switching into the professional, on-duty captain that she’s far more familiar with.

A shitty, war starting objective, that’s what. “What do you know about the War Trust?”

Lucian swears, his eyes wide, “Stars. I _cannot_ hear this. Even _mentioning_ the War Trust is way above my rank.”

Of course. She’s an _idiot._ If Quinn doesn’t tell his brother anything, not about his promotion, or his work, or even Druckenwell, then there must be a damn good reason. And while she may not be as well versed in what ranks have which level of security clearance, she can easily see their current mission being kept under tight wraps. “I apologize,” she says, standing up from her seat, “Captain, I’ll see you at _Horizon_ in the morning and brief you along with the rest of the crew. Until then.”

The two brothers glance at each other as she makes her way out. She reaches the front door before Quinn stops her, “My lord,” he says, speaking in a low voice so that Lucian in the kitchen cannot hear, “I wish to apologize-”

“There’s no need,” she cuts him off, “I shouldn’t have interrupted. And I should have known better than to mention our work in front of your brother when I knew that he’s uninvolved. I won't intrude any longer.”

He hesitates before speaking, and she can see the faint flush in his cheeks, “If you wish, my lord, it would be an honor to have you stay for dinner.”

She can’t. She knows that now, that she’s out of place here. “We’re off duty. You _can_ call me Gimrizh, you know.”

“My lord,” he says pointedly, “that would be highly unprofessional of me.”

“And that’s exactly why I can’t stay for dinner,” she explains. She opens the door and steps out, “Good night, Quinn.”

“I shall see you in the morning then, my lord,” he says, defeated. As the door closes he stares at her, the same confusion that’s writhing away inside her mirrored on his face.

~*~

Jaesa Willsaam doesn’t know what her life has become.

Less than a month ago she was tucked away in one of her former master’s safe houses, waiting and panicking while someone she didn’t know hunted down her family. She never would have guessed what awaited her. Now, she’s sitting in the bridge of an Imperial ship, masquerading as a Sith and working for the Empire.

Outside the viewport is the blur of hyperspace, wide and infinite, while being a raging storm. They’re headed to Taris. To kill high ranking members of the Republic. She’s still not sure how she feels about that. Of course, she knows that it’s all part of a deception and she trusts that her new master has a plan. She wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for her master, Gimrizh. The Zabrak saved her when any other Sith would have killed her and is teaching her how to stay true to the light while being surrounded by the dark side. She knows that her master has good in her, she’s felt it herself. Jaesa is in good hands.

The deception of it all has been eating away at her, a rot that not even training with Gimrizh or immersing herself in the force could remove. Strangely enough, it had been Vette that had helped her. Vette’s younger than herself, but she’s so much wiser than she is. Her friend - and yes, she feels confident in calling Vette a friend - has been a great gift. Gimrizh tries, but she understands that the reality of their situation does not allow her master much time for other duties. Vette just _knew_ what the problem is after only a moment of looking.

Slowly but surely, Jaesa’s life is coming back together, tiny pieces of who she was meeting who she has to be. She even saw her parents while they were on Dromund Kaas. It had been such a short meeting, but it had been a shard of her past. They’re well, and they’re rich now, what they’ve always wanted. Her mother thinks that they’ve betrayed the Republic, but she had hugged Jaesa and been honestly pleased to see her. And that had been, Jaesa tells herself, enough.

Maybe one day she’ll be who Vette believes she can be. She’d like to make Gimrizh proud of her, but she’d like to make Vette happy. The Twi’lek must have had such a hard life as a result of her terrible slavery, and yet she’s managed to be such a happy and wise person despite all of her hardships.

There’s a ping in the force as the captain steps onto the bridge.

“We should be touching down on Taris by midday tomorrow,” Quinn informs her, apparently trying to guess why she’s up here.

Jaesa wonders what position the captain has on Gimrizh’s crew. Does he know that she’s not proper Sith? She feels like Gimrizh keeps secrets from everyone on the crew, some more than others. Vette herself told her that she doesn’t know everything about her new master. It’s not hard to assume that the captain might not know that the both of them aren’t fully pledged to the dark side of the force. “Oh, thank you, but I’m actually just up here for the view,” she gestures to the viewport, “It’s quite beautiful out there.”

“Our lord often does the same,” he comments.

She tries to imagine her master, sitting where she’s sitting, her knees pulled up to her chest and staring out the viewport. The image comes easily and it’s surprising how vulnerable her master looks in her mind’s eye. “It _is_ a very nice view,” she muses.

Quinn pauses on his way out, a stack of datapads in his arms, to stare out the viewport in the same way that she is, “I suppose it is,” he finally says.

He steps out of the bridge and Jaesa stares and she wonders.

They’ll head to Taris, and then what? Where will she be in one month? In two, or three? One year from now, will she still be on this ship or will she be somewhere else entirely?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we finally meet Lucian! Yay! Let me know what you think of him, he's probably going to show up again.   
> Pierce is next chapter, ya'll know the name deal  
> Head to my tumblr (@semper-draca) and check out the Iustitia tag if you want to see what Lucian looks like  
> Please keep in mind, I am a comment based lifeform


	9. A Thing of the Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally meet Pierce! You all voted, and so I went with Foris for his first name ~  
> Shoutout to my beta, FallenAscendant!

Gimrizh drags herself out of a restless night of little to no sleep, desperate for some sort of stim or caff. They should be arriving at the Taris orbital station in a few hours. She pulls a random assortment of clothing onto her body and goes to find breakfast.

There’s a large amount of clanking and clattering as she steps into the galley. Vette is trying to fiddle with a large metal appliance while almost balancing a bowl of _something_ in her arms. There’s a white dusting on nearly every surface available. The only thing in the galley that has escaped the flour storm is Quinn, who’s sitting at the counter and drinking a cup of tea, looking immaculate as usual. Jaesa is in the farthest seat, stirring a cup of caff and watching Vette with a tiny amused smile.

Vette points a dripping spoon at her as soon as she enters the galley, “Would it kill you to wear a shirt?”

“Yes,” Gimrizh states. She’s wearing chest wrappings, that’s good enough. She ducks around Vette to grab the box of caff and the caffeine pills, then dumps them and a mug on the counter before taking the seat between Quinn and Jaesa, “Vette, what _are_ you doing?”

“Waffles,” Vette drops the bowl near the stove and stabs at the mixture inside with a spoon while directing a mean glance at Quinn. “And it’d go a lot _better_ if captain stuffy would _shut up_.”

Oh she is _not_ getting into another argument between the two of them. Gimrizh just stirs her cup of caff sludge and begins to crush the caffeine pills into the mixture. Out of the corner of her eye she can see Jaesa sigh wistfully and apparently suddenly finds her cup of caff very interesting. She wholeheartedly agrees with her apprentice’s sentiment.

Quinn puts down his mug of tea, “You tried to add over a cup of salt, I merely pointed it out.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Vette insists, using the spoon to hold up a glob of off-white gloop and lets it fall back into the bowl.

“Why aren’t you letting Toovee cook?” Gimrizh asks, noticing the distinct lack of droid, “Isn’t he programed for this?”

Vette waves the spoon at the door, “He’s a shit cook. I asked him for breakfast and he tried to run a program to bake like… fifty loaves of bread. I set him on one of those cleaning subroutines he likes so much instead.”

“Alright,” Gimrizh takes a sip from her cup of caff, “Make sure you shut him down before he gets stuck in a loop again. And where did we even get a waffle iron?”

“Well I _have_ been out shopping. On a completely unrelated note, we also now have an ice cream maker,” Vette slaps a glob of batter onto a metal contraption and shuts the lid, sandwiching the batter between two hot plates. She frowns at the thing, as if unsure about one of the steps she’s taken. She peers into the bowl and adds some water. So this breakfast is an experiment. Good to know. Maybe Gimrizh will just stick with her caff.

She turns her mug around in her hands, rolling the handle between her palms, “Have there been any delays in our progress to Taris?” she asks Quinn. She knows, objectively, that he’d tell her if there were, but she still feels the need to double check. The whole mission to restart the war is making her constantly nervous and annoyed.

“No, my lord,” he informs her, “If there are, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Um,” Jaesa speaks up, “Vette…”

“Your waffles are burning,” Gimrizh finishes her sentence before the smell of smoke becomes too strong.

Vette swears and whirls back to the cooking iron that is slightly smoking. She pries the press open and scrapes a both charred black and uncooked waffle off the iron. The mess gets tossed in the bin and she glares at the iron as though it has personally offended her, “Damn it. The hell went wrong?”

“You didn't put any butter on the griddle,” Quinn says matter-of-factly.

The spoon gets pointed directly in his face, “Did I ask you?” Vette demands.

In a very irritated manner, he uses a single finger to push the spoon away, “I believe you just asked what went wrong. So yes, you were in fact, asking me.”

“Alright, why don’t _you_ do it if you’re so great?” Vette angrily shoves the bowl at him, “Don’t come crying to me when you mess up.”

“Fine,” he grabs the bowl, plucks the spoon out of Vette’s hand and takes over the galley while she steals his open seat.

Quinn has the countertops cleaned up in about two seconds flat, to the point where Gimrizh starts feeling a bit guilty that she’s not cleaning anything herself. Then he addresses the actual problem in the kitchen, namely, whatever the hell is in the bowl. He starts pulling things out of the cupboards and grabs a carton of eggs from the conservator, “Did you add _any_ blue milk in this?” he asks Vette.

She shrugs, “No. Why would I?” she stares suspiciously as he gets out a second smaller bowl and starts cracking the eggs into it, “What are you getting rid of the yellow part of the egg for?”

“A minute ago you were upset with me for correcting you,” he reminds her, whisking the eggs whites into a fluffy mixture, “and now you’re doing the same thing.”

“Yeah, except I’m a fabulous cook sooo…” Vette trails off and nudges Jaesa, “Aren’t I a fabulous cook?”

Jaesa tries to be nice, “I’ve never had your cooking before, but I’m sure that you’re quite talented?”

She nudges Gimrizh, “Aren’t I a fabulous cook?”

Gimrizh coughs into her cup of caff sludge, “Like Jaesa, I’ve never eaten your cooking before. And besides, I would be a terrible judge. I’ve never really eaten anything besides protein packs and ration bars. You could cook the nastiest thing and I would not notice.”

“Well that really boosts my confidence,” Vette says sarcastically.

“Good,” Gimrizh retorts. She drains her mug of caff and drops it in the washer. As she’s up in the galley, she leans over Quinn’s shoulder to watch what he’s doing. He’s adding a few drops of some dark liquid that smells like sugary, delicious heaven to the batter. There’s a bowl of fluffy pristine egg whites sitting to the side.

She points at the bowl of egg, “What’s that for?”

He practically jumps at her question. Apparently he didn’t realize that she was standing right behind him. Vette snickers in the corner and he recovers quickly to glare at her, before answering Gimrizh’s question, “Egg whites, my lord,” he replies, “It adds texture. Observe,” he grabs the whisk and sinks it into the fluffy white egg. When he pulls the whisk up, the egg follows it, leaving stiff peaks behind as the egg is firm enough to stand up on its own.

“It’s… pretty,” she says, taking the whisk herself and playing with the egg. She sticks her tongue out to lick a tiny bit off  the whisk, “It doesn’t taste like anything?”

She catches a small smile on his face before it vanishes and he takes the whisk back from her, “It’s not supposed to, my lord.” He picks up the bowl of egg and folds them lightly into the rest of the batter.

“Oh, that’s what it does,” she realizes.

Quinn tosses a cube of butter onto the hot griddle before adding the batter. Then he presses it shut and turns back to Vette.

“Don’t look so damn smug,” Vette scowls at him, “I believe nothing yet.”

Within a few minutes, the galley is filled with a warm, tantalizing smell and the scowl on Vette’s face has only gotten more pronounced. In contrast, Quinn just looks more self-satisfied. "If you just follow a recipe, it's hardly complicated -"

Vette puts her hands on her hips and looks at Quinn, "Cooking. Is. An. Art. I don't just follow the directions like an idiot, I am over here trying to  _create_ like the artist that I am, we can't all be blessed with the ability to perfectly obey instructions -"

"Well since your method failed spectacularly -"

Ignoring the both of them, Gimrizh pops open the waffle makers and helps herself. She supposes caff isn’t exactly a balanced breakfast. Gimrizh takes a stack and hesitantly bites into one. She almost melts inside. It’s _krething_ delicious. Unethically good. Fluffy, sweet, _perfect._ Stars, is this what she’s been missing out on for years?

Vette cuts her argument off, "Well you could have saved some for the rest of us?"

“No. Is this what food can _taste like_?” she asks between bites. “I am never eating another protein pack ever again.”

“Stars,” Vette rolls her eyes at her, “I should get you fast food sometime, just to see your reaction.”

Normally, she would be suspicious of one of Vette’s suggestions, but she has just discovered something amazing and that honestly takes precedence over just about anything. She’s spent her whole damn life eating mush on Korriban and protein packs in space because she just assumed that it didn’t matter so long as she was consuming nutrients. She has been _lied_ to. How is she only just discovering this now? “Go for it, Vette,” she says, “Whatever the hells you want to feed me, I am _down for anything_.”

“I have so much power,” Vette teases and then grins at Jaesa, “Wanna go find the nearest Galactic Guzzlebusters?”

“I am serious,” Gimrizh points her fork at Quinn as she stares right at him, “This is the best krething thing I have ever eaten in my entire damn life.”

Quinn’s cheeks flush, “Ah- I- thank you, my lord?”

Vette wiggles her eyebrows at Gimrizh, “So. He can _cook_ ,” she whispers suggestively to her.

“Yes I know…? I have _eyes_ …?” Gimrizh is so confused. What does Vette mean? As far as pointless commentary goes, that’s pretty redundant.

“Ugh,” Vette bangs her head against the counter, “I suppose you’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Figure what out?” Gimrizh demands. She glances at Jaesa, who just shrugs, and then at Quinn, “Do either of you know what she’s talking about?”

Quinn shakes his head, “I have no idea, my lord. I’ve never pretended to be able to understand Vette.”

At that moment, the proximity alert goes off. There’s a moment where every single one of them panics, at different levels, yes, but still panics. 

“We must be approaching the space station,” Quinn figures out, breaking the silence that’s gripped the group. He turns off the griddle and throws the bowl in the sink before rushing out to the bridge. 

Vette and Jaesa exchange looks, and in the end the only one of them who rushes out to follow him is Gimrizh. _Horizon_ must have pulled out of hyperspace earlier in the morning, she assumes. They have to make the last few hours of the journey at sub-light speed. Making that rapid an approach to a spacedock that’s used to fending off Republic sabotage tactics is generally considered a very stupid idea, and it’s common practice to be polite and drop out of hyperspace upon entering the system, so as to give a bit of notice.

She enters the bridge to see the captain pulling the ship off autopilot. “I thought we aren’t supposed to be arriving at the Taris spacedock for another couple of hours?”

“You’re quite correct, my lord,” he tells her, and there’s a string of nervousness lacing his voice that hasn’t been there before, “It’s not the spacedock.”

Then what is it? She moves to stand at Quinn’s shoulder and tries to peer out the viewport. A small green-grey orb in the distance is Taris, but the spacedock isn’t yet in sight. To her right are a number of tiny, pinpoints of reflective light, streaking through the blackness of space. Her first thought makes her hearts drop at the sight, “Asteroids?” she suggests hopelessly, knowing that she’s wrong.

Quinn pulls up a closer holo image on the terminal, “Regrettably not. Republic vessels; a cruiser and three defenders.”

“Are they going to engage us?” she asks. She lets her free hand dig tightly against his chair as she stares at the distant ships. They are thousands of miles away, but they could be within firing distance in a matter of minutes. She has great faith in her pilot and yet she _knows_ that their one ship could easily be crushed by the Republic force.

"I doubt it, my lord," he says after a moment of thought. He double checks the terminal readings, "They're holding course towards the Republic aligned sector of Taris. Besides, there's a high probability they're on an escort mission." He points to the holo of the cruiser that sits between the defender vessels. "That cruiser is likely carrying some high profile member of the Republic- they would not compromise safety in favor of going on the offensive."

She relaxes, "Then let's not give them any reason to attack. Hold course and make for the space station. No sudden movements."

If that ship knew what they are planning to do once touching down on the surface, there’s no way in hells that they wouldn’t attack. For all that she’s terrified of restarting open war, she has almost forgotten that they are still technically at peace. What a ridiculous thought. That cruiser is concerned with safety and yet it would be in their best interests to attack her ship and shoot them down right now, before she can do any damage.

There’s an almost polite ping in the force as Jaesa steps into the bridge, “Master? Are we arriving at the space dock?”

“No,” Gimrizh steps back so that Jaesa can see the holo of the Republic ships. “We should be fine, but the proximity alert went off anyways.”

“Oh, I see,” Jaesa says, her discomfort with the idea of them almost having been in a skirmish with _Republic_ ships resonating through the force. Then the discomfort vanishes and is replaced with mild amusement, of all emotions. Really, she needs to have a talk with Jaesa about hiding her emotions. Gimrizh is terrible at most sensing and it’s too easy for her to tell what Jaesa is feeling. 

She clears her throat awkwardly, unsure how much she should say in front of Quinn. "I'm sure things will work out, Jaesa, no need to worry."

“... Okay, master,” Jaesa eventually agrees.

“We’ll be landing in a few hours, make sure you’re ready to head planetside when we do,” Gimrizh tosses over her shoulder as she strides out of the room.

~*~

Taris is an overgrown wreck of a planet filled with far too many rakghouls and has a distinct lack of cute animals. Vette is not impressed.

She and Jaesa are currently lounging in the back of one of the Toxic Lake Imperial Garrison’s briefing rooms, listening in on Gimrizh’s boring conversation with the Moff Hurdenn and some soldier that’s hanging around, looking like a durasteel muscle dude. Quinn is probably the only one in their party who’s actually paying attention, although Jaesa is giving it a solid effort.

“So,” Vette says slowly, once the moff has finished whatever flattery he hoped to accomplish and left the room, leaving behind the lieutenant. “What’re we doing?”

Gimrizh takes a seat at the conference table, “That depends.”

The rest of their little gang all sit as well, only Vette decides that this could be a bit less professional and puts her feet up on the shiny metal table. Quinn glares at her feet, but screw it, she’s not moving. “On what?” Vette says lightly, “The weather?”

“On what the lieutenant has discovered about the War Trust,” she replies, jerking her head towards the guy- what’s his name? Pierce, that’s it.

“Right,” the lieutenant begins, “all four of the War Trust generals are here on Taris, which means something big. But they never show their faces. Got my hands on a Republic scout. Leaned on him. Hard. He was setting up scouting routes for General Frellka, the War Trust’s junior member. The story checked out.”

Vette notices the pause where she thinks Gimrizh almost asks what happened to the scout and then stops herself. “And what did you find?” the Zabrak prods.

“I scoped the area the scout described,” Pierce says, “several heavily armed Republic supply caravans run along carefully staggered routes. Couple dozen soldiers could hit the caravans, pull their transponders, triangulate their destination with the equipment here. Moff Hurdenn can’t spare the manpower, though.”

“Me and my crew are easily the match of a few Republic foot soldiers,” Gimrizh says proudly.

The lieutenant just shrugs and accepts that, “Then I guess I’m running the tech. I’ll hand over the coordinates asap. Caravans run daily, but they vary the timing. I’m sure you’ll come upon them eventually. Hit enough and snag the transponders. I’ll figure out where they’re going. Should zero in on General Frellka.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she agrees, “We’ll leave as soon as possible.”

“Wait,” Vette holds up a finger as the word ‘we’ appears in the conversation, “All of us?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Gimrizh asks.

With attacking heavily armed clankers in the middle of a ruined, rabid animal filled wasteland? “Yes.”

“Well…” Gimrizh replies awkwardly, “Too bad.”

“If we’re to be targeting guarded Republic walkers,” Quinn interjects, and yeah, she _didn’t_ ask him, “then there’s no margin for error. Removing you from the skirmish would decrease our chances of success.”

Gimrizh nods along with what the captain’s saying, “What Quinn said,” she addresses the entire table, “Grab your weapons, get ready. We head out in twenty minutes.”

~*~

Over two hours later, Vette is perched in a tree.

It’s not _actually_ a tree, more a group of thick branches that have invaded the crumbling remains of a building, covering it with leaves and making it look like some sort of tree abomination. It’s good cover, though. She’s been up here for almost an hour, fiddling with her blasters, playing with the commlink. Twenty minutes ago she’d been amusing herself by sending chirping bird noises over the com channel, but then Quinn had told her to shut up - which did nothing - and Gimrizh had heard and told her that she’s distracting Jaesa. So no more bird noises, and there’s been radio silence since.

They’re all spread out at different points in the Brell Sediment area, three teams planning to ambush three different walkers. Regrettably, because her sithyness wants this done quickly and efficiently, the teams have been formed based on strength. So Gimrizh is by herself, Jaesa’s by herself, and Vette is stuck with captain stuffy.

At least they aren’t stuck up in the same damn tree. This is Vette’s tree, and she’s called it. Quinn is hiding behind an outcropping shelf of concrete, some leftover thing from a ruin. She can’t tell, everything on this planet is a ruin.

She can feel the vibrations as the Republic walker slowly makes it march towards where they’re waiting to ambush it. Quinn first alerted her that the caravan’s approaching about five minutes ago, and she personally thinks that the thing is just taking forever to finally show up. She just wants to blow this joint, steal a transponder, and head back to somewhere with a roof and a cantina.

“ _Fifty seconds_ ,” Quinn says through the comm.

Finally. “Yeah, yeah, let’s blast em and run.” She stands up in her tree and grabs the grenade she’s been lugging around. They aren’t her usual fair, but large metal things call for heavy explosives.

The huge clanker of a machine makes it way around the bend. Vette clambers down the chunks of vine and rubble till she’s an inch from the ground. She counts down the second in her head, priming the grenade and aiming for the walker’s legs. Maybe she can blow up one of it’s legs entirely and it can hop around like a mad aklay?

The walker moves right between her and Quinn.

Two grenades roll out and explode right in the clanker’s underbelly, a roar of fire and noise bursting through the quiet like a firecracker. It’s legs blast outwards, the main body collapsing onto the ground, screeching as the durasteel gives out. It’s kind of unfortunate that there’s no gleaming golden pile of credits waiting inside, because otherwise that might be a very beautiful sight. Blowing the place is still awesome, but she misses the honest rewards of living life on the wrong side of the law.

She also misses not having to fight soldiers every damn day.

A half dozen Republic soldiers pour out of the caravan, some stumbling or injured from the force of the explosion. Show time. Vette flips her blasters in her hands and rolls out from under her cover, coming up on her knees to pin two soldiers in the head with the same number of bolts. One jumps over the two bodies to come after her, blaster rifle pointed at her head. She tosses a flash bang into his eyes and pistol whips him right in the temples while he’s out of it. He goes down and she kicks his blaster to the side, just to be safe.

On the other side of the fight, she can see Quinn take advantage of the distraction she’s caused to shoot a couple of the remaining men. Vette ducks a blast from the last soldier and peppers him with a hail of bolts till he falls to the ground like the rest.

She can hear the whirr of the droid before she sees it. A tall, clunky, defender droid, carrying something that looks more like a short range missile launcher than a blaster slowly chugs its way to the door of the caravan. There’s a humm as the weapon powers up. Vette starts to run to the side of the walker and desperately checks her pockets for anything that could put a dent in that thing - her blaster’s won’t do a whole lot of good.

Quinn tosses an electric charge beneath the droid's shields, sending out a surge of power that wrecks the thing’s circuitry and immobilises it. Well. Alright. She can work with that.

She flips up the walker’s gangplank, gets behind the droid, and puts a bolt right in the tangle of wires and circuits between two armoured plates on it’s neck. The neck section burns as it’s wrenched in half. All she has to do is put her blasters away, grab the headpiece, and yank. It comes off in her hands with little to no resistance.

“Now, where would that transponder be?” Vette asks. She drop kicks the droid’s head out the gangplank right as Quinn enters the caravan, just missing him by a couple of feet.

The annoyed look he gives her when the head sails past him is more amusing than anything else. He heads to a control panel in the back of the walker and starts to pry open the covering to expose the machine guts inside, “A standard Republic walker normally carries their transponder inside here,” he comments.

“Sweet,” she pushes him to the side, “Move over, let me do this.”

He looks so offended, it’s ridiculous, “I have extensively studied the schematics of Republic -”

“Yeah, yeah, you read boring technical shit and can fix our ship up and all that jazz.” She waves him off and shoves her fingers into the tangle of wires, “This is _stealing_ a transponder though, and I’m the best person here for that kind of job.” She pulls out a power coupling, tossing it casually over her shoulder before diving back in, “Unless you’ve secretly been living a double life as the galaxy’s most wanted thief?”

“Hardly,” he sharply replies.

She uncouples the base of the transponder from a thick pinlock that’s been shoddily welded into the main plate. Standard issue always seems to be rubbish. The last of the loose wires get ripped out of the way and she pulls out the shiny, cylindrical transponder, “Ta-da!”

He holds up his commlink and opens the main channel, “My lord, we’ve retrieved the third transponder.”

“ _Good,_ ” Gimrizh’s staticy voice says through the comm, “ _Head back to the Toxic Lake Garrison and we’ll rendezvous there._ ”

At last, heading back to someplace with civilization. She twirls the transponder around a bit before sticking it in her belt, “Well that was fun.”

Quinn looks at her like she’s insane, “We were just in a blaster fight.”

“Yup,” she repeats blandly, “Fun.”

~*~

“Give me a minute to retrace their routes,” Lieutenant Pierce is saying, plugging the stolen transponders into a computer terminal, “see where they converge.”

"Go ahead," Lord Gimrizh agrees. She stirs a large mug of instant caff with her finger and chugs the whole thing.

It’s getting to be rather late at night, on standard Imperial time anyways, and Malavai is just as tired as the rest of them. He’s _fine_ , of course, although he is hoping that Vette will stop hoarding all the damn caff so that he can make himself a cup. The five of them are grouped around the conference table, the Lieutenant prodding redundantly at the already running program. Vette’s leaning on Jaesa Willsaam and the both of them are consuming heavy amounts of caff.

“Triangulation complete,” the lieutenant says at last, “Only one place these caravan’s could be going. Has to be General Frellka.”

Gimrizh leans out of her chair without actually standing up, trying to get a look at the terminal. “Where is that?”

Malavai gets a good look at the map and comes up with an answer before the other soldier can so much as open his mouth, “Lower area of the Brell Sediment, my lord. It’s a few dozen klicks south-east of the Garrison. Perhaps an hour or so away.”

“What he said,” the lieutenant agrees, reluctantly though, as if he really wants to contradict something Malavai said but can’t. “We beat the pubs out of there a few months back. All we found were rank caves that pirates had been using. If they snuck back in, they’re after something. Dunno what.”

They examine the map for a moment before Gimrizh sighs, “Alright. No use sitting around here. If we don’t strike now, Frellka might clear out that base once he finds out that we’ve been ambushing his walkers. Send me the exact coordinates and I’ll head out in just a few minutes.” She glances over at Vette and Jaesa, who both look one more fight away from passing out.

“Do it and die,” Vette groans, refusing to even lift her head up as she mumbles.

“I shall accompany you then, my lord,” Malavai offers. He’ll be fine, he can just snag a couple of stim pills before heading out. Someone needs to watch his lord’s back after all, and he doesn’t quite trust the lieutenant to do so. Neither would he trust an exhausted Vette or Jaesa, both of whom look worn out, although at least Jaesa maintains some measure of composure.

Gimrizh considers her options, “Very well. Get your gear and let’s go.”

They commandeer a small, standard issue speeder that takes them out of the Toxic Lake Garrison and towards the ruins of the Brell Sediment. There are few Republic troops around, only the occasional patrol for them to dodge. Most of the people in this section of Taris are Imperial squads stationed around the main garrison. If there are any remaining pirates, they’re staying underground.

The speeder is left behind shortly before they reach the cave system where the walkers converge. It appears to be the remnants of a mine, although it certainly doesn’t look as though it had been abandoned months ago. A long trail of dented concrete and packed earth shows the tracks of a number of Republic walkers making their way through the area.

“Well,” Lord Gimrizh comments, making her way into the mouth of the cave, “there goes my hope of this being a dead end.”

Malavai follows her in, one hand on his blaster even though all is quiet. “If it were a dead end, my lord, then we would not find General Frellka, which is rather the point of coming here to begin with.”

“Very true,” she agrees. She uses the force to lift a panel that’s been welded into the back wall of the cave. The metal cover gets tossed to the side, revealing a set of controls. After a moment of consideration, she presses one with an arrow on it. There’s a grinding of gears and then a door hidden in the back slides open into an elevator.

The elevator goes down almost a dozen floors, more of a mine shaft than anything else. This too has the air of something frequently used. It seems that Lieutenant Pierce’s men have done an ineffective job of removing the Republic forces from this area. Logically, the people using this mine could be pirates, but there are very low odds of that eventuality and high odds that it’s the Republic.

He can hear evidence of the working mine before the platform comes to a stop. There must be dozens of miners at work here, none wearing slave collars - so quintessentially Republic. The moment they step off the elevator platform, the noise dims somewhat as the miners that can see them slow their work to gawk.

A couple of nearby guards freeze. Their hands clench around the triggers on their blasters.

Gimrizh slowly moves forward to stand in front of Malavai and she puts her hands on her hips, her fingers tapping a warning on her lightsaber hilts. “This doesn’t have to be difficult,” she informs the two guards, who exchange nervous glances at the sight of her, “Just take me to whomever is in charge here, and you can go about your lives with all your limbs intact.”

“We don’t allow Imps…” one guard says hesitantly.

She shrugs and moves to unclip her blade, “Very well.”

“-But we can make an exception!” the guard hastily finishes, voice trembling with obvious fear. Both guards drop their blasters at once. “The foreman’s straight back there, you can’t miss him.”

“Good choice,” Gimrizh says, releasing her lightsabers and striding past the two guards towards the door they’ve helpfully pointed out.

Once they’re out of the guard’s earshot, Malavai double checks the security in the mine, or at least what they can see of it. “I doubt anyone here could have posed a threat to you, my lord,” he says quietly. “They are working with the Republic after all.”

“Intimidation is less messy,” she replies, “Besides, we’re here for Frellka, not some pitiful miners.”

Neither of her points are particularly wrong, but it’s the spirit of her decision that rubs him the wrong way. Why spare those who may just turn around and continue to aid the Republic? Killing them might not do the Empire any good, but it couldn’t hurt either. He can see her reasoning though, and he’s not one to contradict her orders. “Of course, my lord.”

“Should I kill them?” she asks. Strangely enough, it’s not a challenge, not a dare to see if he would be willing to demand she change her orders. Instead, she honestly sounds uncertain, confused about the decision she’s made.

“As you say, my lord - messy,” Malavai eventually agrees. If only to remove her uncertainty.

He can almost hear a tiny sigh of relief before she’s slamming the doors open and stepping into the foreman’s office.

The foreman is a large, old man who almost has a heart attack when he sees them enter. He jumps out of his chair like he’s been electrocuted, sending a pile of data wafers scattering to the floor. “What are you - We’re not -” he stumbles over his words, “We ain’t fighters, just miners! Contracted miners, at that.”

“I understand,” Gimrizh says in a cold voice as she approaches him, “I’m just here for General Frellka - and don’t lie, I know this is his operation.”

“He’s the overseer,” the foreman nods along, sweat beading on his face, “But he ain’t very hands on. Doesn’t exactly come by every day. He’s nearby enough though. Not too far. You gonna kill him?”

She crosses her arms, “Does it matter?”

“Don’t make much difference to me,” he quickly tells her, “The Republic don’t pay me enough to get in your way, believe me. If I hit the silent alarm, Frellka’ll come running with his personal guard. If that’s really what you want, I can bring him here.”

“Go ahead,” she orders.

The foreman scrambles to his desk and hits a series of buttons on the control panel, activating an alarm sequence. “There-” he says, shaking at the idea that he may have just outlived his usefulness, “It’s done. The general’s been summoned. Now please. Just let us live.”

Lord Gimrizh considers it and then waves her hand at the door, “Get out of here, and evacuate the mine. I can’t promise the lives of any who remain.”

He flees.

Gimrizh hops up to sit on top of his desk, “Well,” she remarks, “that could certainly have gone a lot worse.”

The contrast stands out sharply in Malavai’s mind, “Vette described our raid of the Republic walker as ‘fun’,” he remembers, “I think I prefer your assessment, my lord.”

A small, tight smile crosses her face, “She probably hadn’t been serious. Vette sometimes uses her humor as a shield.”

 _And you don’t?_ He refuses to voice that thought, regardless of whether or not it’s accurate. Although he may occasionally ask for clarification regarding her orders, he would never dare to outright criticize her like that. It is a somewhat accurate evaluation of Vette, despite the fact that he suspects her of projecting.

When he doesn’t reply right away, Gimrizh starts digging around in the desk, pulling different things out and messing with them. Eventually she pulls out a stack of cards, “Do you know how to play sabacc?”

“It’s a criminal’s game, my lord,” he says, feeling almost offended, “It’s hardly appropriate for someone of my station - or yours, for that matter.”

She sets the cards down on top of the desk and smirks at him, “I’m not hearing a ‘no’. Teach me?”

With a muffled sigh, he resigns himself to his fate. He takes a seat across from her - in an actual chair, hoping that she’ll get the message and stop sitting on top. The stack of cards that she’s procured is a very used deck, and he’s actually a bit disappointed to find that it’s not missing any cards as that would have given him a convenient excuse. While he might know how to play the game, he’s not particularly good at it. A large portion of the game is based off of chance, not strategy.

It’s easy enough to pick up though, probably one of the reasons that it’s so popular. He briefly explains the rules to her and they play a quick round to see if she’s got it. She loses the first round spectacularly. At her insistence, he deals again and lets her take her time selecting her cards and making plays.

“So, what do you know about Frellka?” she asks after a couple of rounds, still playing intently.

The sudden switch in topics causes him to pause for a moment. “General Frellka is one of the highest ranking members in the Republic’s strategic high command, as are most of the War Trust. Few battles during the war can be directly attributed to him however, as his area of expertise mostly lies in overwatch, not direct command. He’s still a clever strategist, and he does have a personal guard. I doubt that he will pose any challenge to you, my lord.”

She seems to mull over this information and then picks up another card, “I suppose I won’t be concerned then,” she picks up a face card and twirls it between her fingers with a light laugh, “Is this me?”

Malavai looks at the card that she’s playing with. It’s the face card ‘the evil one’. “It’s merely a card, my lord, it doesn’t represent anyone. It’s also unlikely to provide you with a winning hand.”

Her hand of cards is tossed down on the table and she counts them, “Eleven. Damn, you’re right.” She leans over and peers at his hand, a negative twenty. “We’ll have to play again some other time. Frellka’s on his way.”

“Are you certain, my lord?” he asks, and then winces because that is the second time he’s questioned her. Still, he is somewhat unused to whatever mysteries of the force allow Sith to know their enemies positions before anyone else.

Gimrizh slides off the desk with a nod, “He’s in the mine. I’m not very good at sensing, but he’s getting closer and the rest of the mine has been evacuated. There’s… maybe four people. I’m not sure.”

He stands and rests one hand on his blaster, trying to see if he can hear what she’s using the force to sense. Sure enough, he can hear increasingly loud footsteps approaching them, heavy, clunking steps, like men laden down with large blaster rifles. Within moments there’s the sound of someone pounding on the door and then the entrance slams open.

Frellka is familiar to him, an old man with thin eyes, wearing the uniform of a Republic officer. There’s a standard issue blaster at his hip, and a second, smaller blaster in a shoulder holster, but nothing with more firepower than that. The general makes a tiny movement with his hand and at his command, the three soldiers he has for backup spread out around the edges of the room, blasters raised and ready.

“The foreman alerted us that there was a Sith here,” Frellka begins, “so I brought backup.”

Malavai can see Gimrizh glancing at the other Republic officers, but he can’t see anything on her face besides her usual cool demeanor and a subtle underpinning of confidence. Or not confidence exactly, but certainty. He’s sure that she’s already run through the fight in her head and arrived at a favorable outcome.

“The more the merrier,” she says casually.

Frellka doesn’t seem to be aware that he’s already a dead man walking, “I am General Elaxis Frellka of the Republic strategic high command. Your incursion here violates the spirit of the Treaty of Coruscant. We have you dead to rights, surrender.”

“I know who you are,” she comments.

“So this incursion was no accident,” Frellka realises, his eyes narrowing, “It’s unfortunate that you’ve discovered our plans, but no matter. The wheels are already in motion. Our new technology will deliver arms superiority to the Republic, and I’m ready to give my life to defend this installation.”

This new technology must be the driving force that gathered the four War Trust generals here on Taris. Pity that Malavai actually has no idea what this technology is, but it’s helpful that General Frellka is so loose-lipped regarding the plans. Perhaps the rest of the War Trust will provide them with answers.

Gimrizh either doesn’t pick up on what Frellka is saying, or she’s clever enough not to comment on it and chance the general saying more. Malavai’s betting on the latter outcome. “Why don’t you stand down?” she asks, sweetening her voice like she’s speaking to a stubborn child, “You know you can’t defeat me.”

“Hah!” Frellka reaches for his blaster, “Maybe you missed it, but I’ve come with more than enough men to stop you. I can’t let you leave and tell the Empire what you’ve seen. Men! This Sith must not be allowed to reveal our operation! Attack to kill!”

They open fire, bolts streaking through the air. Malavai draws his blaster, ready to return the favor, to defend his lord’s back.

Gimrizh sends the desk flying between them and the Republic soldiers. The blasts break harmlessly against the hunk of metal, providing them with cover, and keeping them out of the enemy’s line of sight. She holds the desk in mid air, keeping it hovering in front of them.

Malavai quickly evaluates the soldiers positions. He aims around the edge of the desk, shoots twice, and hopes that he’s correct. A second later, he receives confirmation that his bolts hit their mark, as two men cry out and two bodies hit the floor. Whatever injury he might have risked was worth it, just for the grin that Gimrizh tosses him after his success.

There’s just one guard and the general left. Gimrizh punches the desk through the air to slam into the final guard, pinning his unconscious body between the metal object and the wall.

Then she ignites her lightsabers and leaps fearlessly for the general.

In one swift movement, she slices off his dominant hand, and then there’s another flash of light and the general’s head topples.

She lets Frellka’s body fall before she turns off her weapons and returns them to her belt. She gets on her knees and starts rummaging through his pockets.

“My lord?” Malavai has _no_ idea what she’s looking for, or even why she’s decided that a dead man’s belongings might have some use.

“Don’t worry, Quinn, it’s all part of my plan,” she says reassuringly, “Aha.” She stands and shows him an identification card that she’s pulled from Frellka. She heads to the large computer terminal in the back of the room and starts to boot it up, “I was wondering what ‘new technology’ or ‘arms superiority’ he was talking about, so I figured this might be a good way to get some answers.”

She slides the card through the terminal’s scanner and it allows her access.

That’s… brilliant. “A very clever idea, my lord,” he compliments. He moves closer to the computer, trying to see what it is she’s looking at. She’s flipping through file after file, maps and charts and reports all popping up and then vanishing.

“I’m putting this all on a data stick,” she explains, “We can look at it once we make our way back to the stationed Garrison. I’m sure Lieutenant Pierce will be able to provide some insight into what we recover.”

Malavai doubts that, but he doesn’t contradict her. Let the lieutenant have his chance and fail, as long as the man doesn’t endanger the mission or the Lord Gimrizh, Malavai doesn’t care. Gimrizh pulls the data stick from the terminal and pockets it, before punching in another series of commands.

“I suggest we leave in a fast-ish sort of manner,” she says, already making her way towards the door.

He follows her just as hastily, “Any particular reason for that, my lord?”

She looks sheepish, “I’ve set the terminal to self-destruct and wired the explosion into the mine’s electricity system. Should be a large enough blast to wreck whatever the Republic was doing here, but uh… we probably don’t want to stick around.”

~*~

One of the things that Foris Pierce hates the most are dumbass commanding officers sticking their noses into things and messing everything up. Especially when it’s his neck - or those of _his_ men - on the line. Why does some stiff shirted man who gets to sit in a chair and watch while real men go out to fight get to make decisions about who lives and who dies?

“Thanks to me, Lord Gimrizh,” Moff Hurdenn is saying. He’s all puffed up trying to impress the Sith, like he’s actually done something good instead of fucking everything up, “General Durant’s personal battalion will not be joining him wherever he is.”

The Sith doesn’t seem to share the Moff’s happiness, “Yes - _wherever he is_. Which we still don’t know. Why didn’t you plant a tracker on the battalion?”

Well, she’s not as stupid as most of the higher-ups then. That’s a relief. Foris isn’t exactly a fan of working underneath someone who doesn’t understand a whit of proper wartime techniques. “I tried to put one of my black ops pals on the battalion’s trail. We could have discretely followed them to Durant’s position,” he informs her.

“Then why the hells didn’t you?” she demands.

Foris jerks his head towards the Moff, “Moff Hurdenn grounded me.”

She turns her ire away from him and onto the Moff, who actually deserves it, “Let me guess. You thought that you could send a squad in, kill a few relatively insignificant pubs, completely compromise an excellent chance at finding our main target, and I would somehow be impressed with your work?”

“I thought -” Hurdenn tries to explain, “I thought it would be best to prevent General Durant from gaining any more reinforcements. You are hunting the man, after all, I thought it prudent to thin his forces for you.”

The Twi’lek girl lounging in the back of the room muffles a laugh at this point. She nudges the human girl next to her and quietly points at the Sith, as if to say ‘watch how this turns out’.

Apparently what Hurdenn said had been entirely the wrong thing to say. The Sith pulls herself up and manages to make the Moff cower, even though she’s the shortest person in the room. Her voice is icy as anything as she stares down the Moff.“Are you insinuating that I cannot handle a simple battalion of _pubs_? I neither need nor desire your _assistance_ in wiping out Durant’s men. You clearly are lacking a few important brain cells, so I shall make myself _transparently_ clear. That was a rash and foolish move. You will withdraw any troops you have left in the area and allow Lieutenant Pierce and his men to scour for General Durant’s headquarters. Understood?”

“Yes, well. Of course,” Hurdenn immediately acquiesces, “I’ll make it so immediately, my lord.”

“Good.” She points at the door, “Now go and do your damn job.”

The Moff scrambles out of the room as fast as he can without actually running. Despite not having worked with a lot of Sith in the past, Foris has to admit, he’s starting to think that this one isn’t half bad. Sure, he’d trade a dozen Sith for his back ops squad in a heartbeat, but she’s got a decent enough head on her shoulders. Not a bad person to work under. He’s certainly been stuck taking orders from worse in the past.

“We’ll get something on Durant,” Foris promises her.

She suddenly doesn’t look as intimidating once she looks back at him, “Thank you, Lieutenant. I apologize for Hurdenn’s interference. Your plan was sound and probably would have been successful.”

“My lord,” the captain from her crew announces, pulling up a map on a data reader, “I’ve been sifting through the information you recovered from the mine, and I believe I’ve located General Minst.”

The group moves to take a look at the holo map. Foris recognizes the area, he’s run patrols nearby often enough. It’s a tough place to go into.

“Excellent work,” the Sith says, “Tell me what I’m looking at.”

The captain enlarges the image and rotates it to lie flat, “It’s an area of the Tularan Marsh, my lord. It appears that General Minst has made his base near the reactor core in Transport Station Five. It’s in a series of tunnels and ruined pipe works from Old Taris.”

Foris crosses his arms and frowns at the map. He’s lost good men in those tunnels, members of his squad that got mauled by rakghouls. The lucky ones died from the animal attacks, the unlucky ones got the disease and had to be put down. “That’s rakghoul territory,” he informs them, “those tunnels are crawling with the beasts.”

“I’m out!” the Twi’lek declares.

“I admit,” the Sith says, staring at the map, “I don’t know much about the rakghoul disease. Can it be treated?”

Foris shrugs, “Not really. If you sterilize the wound immediately, you might live, but most fights don’t really allow for that much time. The rakghouls tend to swarm.”

The Sith grins and clamps a hand on the captain’s shoulder, “Well, I guess I’ll need to take my medic with me, then.”

Oh yeah. Foris definitely likes this Sith.

~*~

In hindsight, Malavai should have known that this entire venture would be fraught with problems from the moment that they discovered General Minst is hiding behind an imposter. What he had failed to consider however, is the possibility of being blown up by a rigged power reactor core. “The imposter’s estimate had better be right,” he says, “If this takes more than a minute, we’ll be caught in the explosion.”

Lord Gimrizh keeps typing in the code, her fingers flying over the keys, “I’ll hunt him down if this goes badly,” she promises, more threat than anything else.

“We might have trouble doing that from the grave, my lord,” Malavai comments. His stomach sinks as he catches sight of a trio of Republic soldiers running towards them, blaster first. Clearly they are not the only ones who hope to take refuge inside the vault, “To complicate the matter,” he informs her, speaking around the lump in his throat, “it seems we’ve been spotted.”

“ _The reactor core will self destruct in forty-five seconds,_ ” the overhead voice says calmly.

She swears and tosses him the code, “Don’t stop inputting that damn thing!”

The code is caught, pinned against the terminal and Malavai picks up where she left off as she moves to attack. He’s trying not to outwardly panic, he can’t, not in front of her. This is not the worst situation he’s found himself in over his years of military service, and he has confidence in her. He isn’t completely sure when he stopped just respecting her for her power and rank and actually started trusting in who she is. Whenever the transition occurred, he does trust that she can save the both of them.

Both her lightsabers burn as she rushes to meet the Republic soldiers. Their blaster bolts slam into the walls, the floor, skittering off her blades and refusing to touch her. He yanks his head away from the conflict to focus, his eyes running over lines of code.

“ _The reactor core will self destruct in thirty seconds_.”

There’s a dying scream from one of the troopers and Malavai watches as a blood splattered blaster flies into his line of sight and crashes against the bulkhead. The sound of blasters being unloaded fills his ears, interspersed with the hiss of a lightsaber. He can hear his lord snarl at the enemy right before the sounds of a man gasping for breath.

“ _The reactor core will self destruct in twenty seconds_.”

Damn the Republic for being so incompetent that their failsafe code is dozens of lines long. This is why they lost the war, pure incompetence.

There’s a scream, followed by the crunch of bones and armour impacting an unyielding surface. The sound of a lightsaber hitting metal.

“How long have we got?” Gimrizh demands, running back to his side and glancing over her shoulder at what he assumes are a stack of dead bodies.

Malavai’s been counting. “This place will explode in exactly ten seconds - now-”

“ _The reactor core will self destruct in ten seconds._ ”

He punches in the last few lines of code, wishing that he could possibly be faster. “Got any last words, I suppose?” Gimrizh asks lightly, an obvious ploy to try to remove the heavy fear that’s gripped them both. It might even have worked if her voice wasn’t shaking while she spoke.

These aren’t going to be his last words because he’s _not_ going to allow himself to be the reason for her death. “I refuse to fail you, my lord,” he vows, tapping out the last line and finally inputting the thing into the vault’s locking matrix.

“ _Vault code sequence complete._ ”

Gimrizh lets out a sigh of relief, “You never let me down, Quinn.”

He almost stumbles over her words, but the vault door is only open for a few seconds and his lord is already running inside. He rushes after her and then the heavy bulkhead slams shut behind them just in time.

The explosion rips through the air, breaks against the durasteel bulkhead like a nebula crashing into a star destroyer. Every light fixture in the vault goes out. The entire room shakes as the force of the blast makes the ground heave. Once it’s burned itself out and passed them by, the back up generator must kick in because the lights slowly start to turn back on.

The very first light that he sees however, is the bright ruby red of Gimrizh’s lightsaber, pointed at something or someone in the blackness.

Then the rest of the room is bathed in light and there’s a Rodian at the end of her blade. A very specific Rodian, although it takes Malavai a moment to identify this one as General Minst, simply because most Rodians look quite similar. He admits, the Republic uniform helps.

“ _That was reckless, Sith_ ,” Minst tells her, hands kept raised and firmly away from his blaster, “ _You could have killed us all_.”

Gimrizh doesn’t lower her blade even an inch, “Oh no,” she says, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “You. Dead. I’d be _devastated_.”

“ _So my death is your goal here, then?”_ Minst guesses, “ _Or am I just a bonus to Project Siantide?_ ”

She takes a single step closer to him, and Malavai slowly draws his blaster, just in case Minst decides to try his chances in a fight, “Why blow the reactor?” she asks, “If you wanted me dead, there are more effective ways to do that, ways that don’t require yourself to be sealed into a vault and at risk of dying in your own trap.”

“ _I detonated the core so that the Empire can never duplicate Project Siantide_ ,” The Rodian says smugly, as though he’s actually won. “ _As Frellka no doubt demonstrated before his demise, there is nothing more important than our project. I had no choice. All your effort has been a waste. Project Siantide is out of your reach_.”

“Very well,” Gimrizh says, sighing.

Her blade flashes and a second later, faster than Malavai can blink, she has the Rodian pinned against the wall, her lightsaber pressed so close to his throat that if he moves even an inch he’d be beheaded.

“I want to know everything about Project Siantide,” she demands.

Minst laughs, a strangled thin sound, but a laugh nonetheless, “ _Little good it will do you_ ,” he remarks in a strained voice, “ _What’s ironic is that the Empire’s bombardment of Taris so many years ago made Project Siantide possible. The substance being mined from the acid lake caves is the residue of all the life forms eradicated in the flash fires of the original Sith bombardment. We found that when the substance is exposed to radiation from the station, it becomes a volatile but extremely powerful energy source._ ”

The lightsaber burns a thin line into the Rodian’s flesh, “It’s uses?” Gimrizh prompts.

“ _The sky is the limit_ ,” he says gleefully, “ _With Siantide cells, common blasters will deliver like a turbo laser. Republic starships will fly circles around Imperial ships in combat. This station held the only equipment that could convert the substance. So, now the Empire will be outmatched on every battlefield._ ”

“You just destroyed the only station capable of creating this new technology,” she reminds him, “Whatever pitiful resources the Republic has managed to gather won’t last - or I’ll destroy them myself. After that, you and your precious Republic won’t be able to manufacture more. Project Siantide will be short lived.”

“ _Doesn’t matter_ ,” he laughs, “ _It’ll be enough to burn your Empire to the ground_.”

She takes a step back and lowers her lightsaber, “You’re quite lucky. Very few people get to die with a smile on their face.”

Then, before the Rodian can protest, she swings her blade and neatly decapitates him.

“Two down,” Gimrizh comments as she clips her lightsaber back on her belt.

A million thoughts a minute are running through Malavai’s head. What are the implications of Project Siantide? How much of this energy substance has the Republic already processed? Has any of it already been used in weapons tech or in starships? He presumes that it can be destroyed, just about any energy source can, and that’s a small mercy. Did Darth Baras know about Siantide and _that’s_ why he suddenly decided to send his apprentice to Taris?

“I imagine that we may encounter a number of these Siantide weapons during our tenure on Taris,” Malavai says, coming to the conclusion that the Republic must have at least _tested_ the Siantide cells already. If they hadn’t, Minst likely would not have been half so arrogant.

Gimrizh nods, “Yes, I suppose -”

Her holo starts beeping.

She whips her holo out and takes the call. It’s the lieutenant, who, while not exactly a detestable person, is definitely not who Malavai really wishes to see after almost being blown up.

“Did you find anything?” Gimrizh asks.

Pierce nods and quickly reports, “Tracked Durant’s battalion, led my black ops troopers on a recon run. Found Durant’s hideout. He’s got a full battalion guarding the compound. They’re establishing a perimeter of electronic defenses around the general.”

“Defense systems will not repel me,” she assures him.

“Good to hear,” he says. He glances over his shoulder before hurriedly continuing, “My black ops troops and me were able to slip past the perimeter before they got the systems online, but we were spotted. We’re taking fire, outnumbered. Should be able to hold them off long enough for you to break through.”

Gimrizh sucks in a thin breath, her hands tightening around the holo communicator, “Sit still. This won’t take long.”

Even if Malavai isn’t a fan of the lieutenant personally, he can understand his lord’s desire to prevent anymore unnecessary loss of Imperial lives. He’s still not particularly pleased about running into General Durant’s base on a quickly conceived rescue mission.

“Well… we’re not going anywhere,” Pierce reminds her, “I’ll send coordinates. Knock out those defense systems. We’ll hold the position for you. Or worst case, our bodies will slow down their charge.”

“That’s not going to happen,” she promises.

“Proud to have served, my lord. Pierce out.” The lieutenant draws his blaster just as the holo flickers out.

Gimrizh double checks the coordinates before tucking the holo back into her pocket, “Get Moff Hurdenn on the line and tell him to send a med team to that location. We’re going to get the lieutenant and his men out of there.”

Even though Malavai has decided that he agrees with this course of action, he finds it doesn’t sit quite as well with him as he thought. He finds himself angry with the lieutenant, not for failing, but for making the call and having Lord Gimrizh run to his defense.

~*~

Foris Pierce lobs a frag grenade past the bulkhead doors and hunkers down as the explosion tears a couple pubs to shreds. It’s not enough. Hells, even if he and his entire team used every single grenade they have, it still wouldn’t be enough to take out the pubs. They’re good men, each and every one of them, but the numbers aren’t in their favor. The fight isn’t going their way. They aren’t going to get out of this on their own.

What they need is some damn _reinforcements_.

Who knows if that Sith is actually going to show up in time, but she’s looking like the only way for them to get out of this mess alive. Foris pauses in his retreat to blast a pub out of the way, clearing a path for a couple of his guys to make it past the interior bulkhead. He’s thinking that they can seal the doors behind them and that’ll buy some time for his troops to regroup.

“Blow the lock!” he orders as they run past the huge durasteel doors, “Wait for Jun’s guys to get through and then seal it!”

Trev blasts the locking mechanism in a second, “Jun ain’t coming!”

Shit, that squad was a third of their damn forces. He promised the Sith he’d hold the line, and that’s what he’s going to do. He’s just going to have to improvise. A couple more pubs get blasted as they run, not nearly enough to win, but enough to keep his men alive a moment longer.

They make it back to the glowing laser gate, the barrier between Durant’s main base and the rest of the hidden base in the Endar Spire crash sight. They’d suppressed the gate defenses long enough to get in. Once they were past the laser systems, Durant had sprung his trap and they’d found themselves completely outnumbered and utterly overwhelmed. They hadn’t managed to fully take down the system and Durant - the bastard - had pulled the gate back up to block their escape route. Now they’re pinned between a rock and a hard place - or a laser gate that’ll slice them to bits and a full battalion of pubs.

The bulkhead doors slam shut, buying them a minute to regroup, even if there’s no way out for them. He and his men are funneled into a corner, the gate to their left and the bulkhead in front of them.

Foris grabs a supply crate and starts pulling it between the corner and the bulkhead doors. “Get a barrier up!” he barks at the scattered remains of his troops.

They snap to action, stacking bits of rubble, pieces of the walls that have been blown off in the fight, supply crates, whatever they can find. Foris puts his back to the barricade and double checks what gear he’s got left. He tosses his second to last medpack to Yan-li, who’s got the steadiest hands and ain’t half bad at stitching. “Patch up whoever needs it,” he says to the man, who gets right on it, “Anyone who’s out of ammo, speak up.”

“Down to my last energy pack,” Trev informs him. The man’s dark face pales slightly as he holds up a half used magazine from his blaster.

Foris splits his rounds in half and passes over what he can spare. With a grateful look, Trev reloads his weapon. Foris counts who he’s got left. There’s Trev, who’s basically his second. Ruian and Loca are still holding the front, but the third member of their team, Idis, is bleeding pretty bad. And then there’s Yan-li, patching up one of their heavier gunmen, Ben. He had almost thirty soldiers when he came in here and now he’s down to six, plus himself.

“We hold the line,” he says firmly. He’s not going to lie to his men. They all have the same grim expression that’s reflected on his own face. False platitudes won’t do a damn thing. “We hold the line,” he repeats, “I told the Sith that we’d hold the line for her and that’s what we’re going to do. No number of pubs are going to stop us.”

“Fuck the pubs,” Trev agrees bitterly, sliding a chipped vibroknife into his shoulder strap.

Ruian and Loca pull Idis to her feet and push a blaster back into her hands. Idis’ hands are shaking and slick with blood, but she grips the blaster tight anyways, “Ready to go, sir,” she says, her voice steady as anything.

There’s an explosion behind the bulkhead doors. The pubs are burning their way through the locking mechanism. Doors won’t last long now.

“Get ready,” Foris orders, tucking his blaster against his shoulder and getting out the last two grenades he has left, “Bombs first, blasters at anyone who gets through. Don’t waste bolts. This isn’t going to be easy, but it is the way it is. The only way out is through.”

“Through a bunch of pubs,” Ruian comments. She starts pulling grenades from her belt and passes them around, “Fuck the Republic.”

Foris claps her on the back, “Damn straight. I’d rather have the six of you watching my back than a hundred grunts, got it? We hit ‘em. Hard. Send ‘em back to the sarlacc pit they crawled out of.”

The huge blast doors clank open and the Republic battalion passes through, intent on wiping them out.

“For the Empire!” Foris cries and then he and his squad unleash every damn grenade they’ve got.

They stagger the blasts in waves, blowing up one line of pubs after another. It’s not enough, not nearly enough. Once they’ve run down to blaster bolts and used up what little they had, the area around the blast doors is littered with dead pubs.

Another squad approaches and Foris and his men open fire.

They’ve lost the only advantage they had left, and their hastily erected barricade doesn’t do enough good to keep out the Republic’s onslaught. Yan-li gets pegged by a half dozen bolts in the first minute and goes down. Five men, plus Foris. There’s no fucking way they’re getting out of this, not without that Sith showing up.

Idis and Loca are the next to go out, a frag grenade tossed over the top of the barricade ripping them to shreds. Once their bodies hit the ground, Ruian screams, grabs her blaster cannon, and leaps over the top, unleashing every single round of bolts she has left onto whichever pub is stupid enough to get within range.

Ben grabs a second blaster and moves to cover her back, blood still pouring down his side from the partially healed wound. Those two aren’t going to make it by themselves. Kicking a crate over to cover Trev’s six, Foris moves to engage the pubs from the side. He guns down three before they even notice him, distracted by the ruckus that Ruian is causing. She’s good at drawing their fire, even if she’d last longer behind some force-damned cover. A number of blaster burns are already dotting her armour, and Ben, using her massive cannon and bulk as a shield, is only faring a little better.

They’re going out like a fucking firework, Foris thinks, using the butt end of his blaster to bash in the head of a pub who got too close. Not bad. He’s lived his whole life knowing that he’d go out fighting for the Empire. Dying with a blaster in his hand ain’t something he’s got a problem with. He’d like to make it though, if only to see the look on the pub’s faces when he beats them.

Ben gets taken out a moment later, and then it’s just Ruian shooting into the pub’s squad. Foris is still blasting the ones that get through her and Trev is pinning those who are left from behind the wrecked barricade.

They’ve managed to thin the pubs a substantial amount. Against the odds, they’re holding the line. Good men, Foris thinks. Damn good men.

Ruian falls to one knee, half her head a bloody, mangled mess. She rigs her cannon to go on auto-fire and that’s how she goes out. Both hands on a gun, and surrounded by dead enemies.

A bolt gets Foris in the gut as he slides back behind the barricade. The pain is dulled by the rush of battle and he bunkers down, back to back with Trev. There’s just two of them left, both injured, but the good thing about bad odds is that the risk of friendly fire drops. And wherever he shoots, he’s pretty much guaranteed to hit someone hostile.

The sound of the power failing roars through the entire base.

With a shower of sparks, the energy shield dies.

“See that?” Foris slams his last ammo pack into his blaster and gets a bolt into the head of one of the few remaining pubs, “We held the fucking line! That’s the sound of a Sith coming!”

Trev doesn’t reply, but Foris can feel his body slide down to the ground. Shit. He ducks down just long enough to check his last man’s pulse. It flickers out beneath his fingers.

He takes Trev’s blaster and starts shooting with two guns. A bolt gets his right shoulder and suddenly one blaster is falling from his hand and Foris’ vision swims.

Red and blue flash in his eyes.

No one’s shooting at him anymore. Good, he probably couldn’t do much about that anyway, he’s not even sure he can move a whole lot. Instead the pubs are scattering. The red and blue blur cuts through the pubs like they’re nothing and now all he can hear is their screams as they all fall. Thank fuck. The Sith showed up. He’s going to make it.

What remains of Durant’s battalion dies at the Sith’s hands.

“Lieutenant,” she says, stepping over the corpses she just created, “Are you alright?”

He winces as he pushes himself up, “Been better.”

She glances over at the second person who’s just shown up, that captain of hers. The captain kneels next to Foris and puts a needle full of kolto into his system. There’s not a scratch on the man, Foris notices viciously. The only people who don’t get hit in a battle are the cowards who aren’t doing the fighting. As soon as the captain’s got a kolto patch on Foris’ gut, he pushes the man away and gives his report to the Sith, “I’ve spent all my ammunition, and I’m out of medpacks. That was the last of Durant’s battalion though. The rest are down. So is my unit. Never seen men stare death in the face and fight so bravely.”

“I’ll ensure the Moff gets that message, and honors them accordingly,” the Sith promises him. “You did well.”

He points to what remains of the bulkhead door, “General Durant and his men have retreated inside the compound. Proud I usured you to the doorstep.”

“We have a medical team on the way,” she says, “You’ll be patched up.” She turns to her captain and orders, more quietly, “Can you give the lieutenant whatever he needs to make it till the medics get here? We have to go after Durant before he can gather any reinforcements.”

“Already done, my lord,” the captain informs her.

The Sith nods, “Sit tight, lieutenant. Durant will be dealt with swiftly.”

Then she leaves, followed by the captain, both heading down past the bulkhead and into the compound.

Foris’ men bought them that ground. Paid for every foot in blood. He’s so proud of his team, to get so far and succeed against such odds. Good soldiers, the lot of them. He supposes that after this he’ll have to get a new team. That’s how it always works. They go down fighting and he gets reassigned somewhere.

He props his blaster up and waits for the med team to show.

~*~

Jaesa circles a training dummy in the Crater Command Base. She and Vette, along with Moff Hurdenn and his contingent of Imperial soldiers transferred here a few hours ago. Now they’re just waiting for her master to return before they can move to engage General Faraire. She doesn’t want to have to destroy the peace that the galaxy has enjoyed all these years, but she’s also well aware that as far as peace goes, this one is particularly violent.

Maybe it will be better for the galaxy to return to war and rebuild itself from the ashes. If she and Master Gimrizh can change the Empire from within, wouldn’t a war be the time to do so? They could make strides without being constrained by the Treaty and the Empire would be unlikely to look too closely at any more insidious actions of theirs during a time of war. A Jedi would support peace no matter what yet she’s not a Jedi anymore. A Sith would support war above all else, conflict for conflict’s sake.

She does not believe that there is much good that comes with war. Yet they have little choice in the matter, her master’s master has decreed that there shall be war and if _they_ do not deliver on that missive, then someone else shall and they shall lose their window of opportunity. Is it not prudent to attempt to make the best of a bad situation?

Her training staff strikes out at the dummy, a blow to the head, a jab in the heart.

Vette’s sitting in the corner with her legs crossed on top of a table. A multitude of blaster components are spread out in front of her as she cleans and repairs each individual part. Her lips are scrunched up in concentration, almost a frustrated pout, as she works on what must be an irritating particle converter.

“Do you think that we’re doing the right thing?” Jaesa asks, tapping the dummy’s neck before withdrawing to a defensive stance.

Vette looks up from her blaster parts and thinks on it for a moment, “Eh. The Treaty of Coruscant is coming apart anyways. Probably for the best if we take it apart on our own terms.”

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to control what happens after,” she says, “but I do believe that we can use the war to make progress without the high-ranking members of the Empire paying us attention.”

“Make progress?” Vette gives her a peculiar look and she can feel her confusion in the force.

Of course, she’s so new to this team that it makes sense if her master hasn’t told her much, “I know that I may not be aware of what my master’s plan is, of course, I haven’t been her apprentice for very long. It’s understandable that she has yet to trust me. I am confident that she _can_ use the war to her advantage and that we can make strides during the conflict, even if she doesn’t wish to tell me what she’s planning.”

With a clink, the blaster parts are slowly put down on the table. “Jaesa,” Vette asks slowly, “what are you talking about?”

“Whatever plan Master Gimrizh has to reform the Empire?” Jaesa says, more question than anything else.

“There’s no plan,” Vette tells her.

She almost doesn’t want to believe it, but she can sense the certainty Vette feels. She slowly lowers her training staff. “But she’s… like me. She walks the path of the light side, she can’t agree with what the Empire and the Sith Order currently are.”

“Look, I know approximately nothing about the force,” Vette begins, “so I’m not going to make myself look like more of an idiot than usual by trying to go into all that ‘light side’ ‘dark side’ stuff. I’m just saying, that if she hasn’t told you about some plan and she hasn’t told me, then there’s probably not a plan.”

“Maybe she’s keeping it a secret?” Jaesa tries.

Vette sighs and finally takes her feet off the table, “Just ask her.”

“Yes. Ask me what?”

Jaesa turns sharply on her heels to see with her eyes what the force has already confirmed to her. Her master is standing in the doorway, ragged looking and tired, but still standing and still in one piece. The mission to take out Generals Minst and Durant must have been successful or else her master would still be out there hunting them down.

“Master,” Jaesa says, bowing her head respectfully, “You’ve returned.”

Gimrizh steps into the room and closes the door behind her, stopping in front of the training dummy to examine the damage that Jaesa’s done. “Yes, everyone’s back,” she agrees, glancing back at Jaesa with a serious expression in her eyes, “Now. Ask me what?”

Perhaps here are her answers, “I was speaking with Vette about what we’re going to do once the Treaty of Coruscant is broken. I believe that we can use the conflict to mask our goals of changing the Empire - however Vette said that you have no such goal.”

Her master does a double take. She’s utterly stunned by what Jaesa’s just said, a whirlwind of confusion, insecurity, and also fear hitting Jaesa through the fragile mental bond they share. “I- no,” Gimrizh tells her, almost choking on her words, “I don’t have a plan. There’s never been a _plan_. I’m not - not trying to change the Empire at all.”

“I… I admit, I don’t understand,” Jaesa says hesitantly, “Surely you must have _some_ plan? You walk the light path with me, you are aware of the dangers that you face. I _know_ that you disagree with the current policies of the Sith and Imperial Command. What plan do you have in the works to change this?”

Gimrizh takes a step back, trying to put some distance between them, “My plan? My plan is to keep myself alive. Keep my _crew_ alive. That’s _it_.”

That can’t be right, it just can’t be. “But that’s wrong,” is all that comes out of her mouth. It’s wrong to sit by as the Empire commits atrocities. She knows that working with her master is better than being under the Jedi’s thumb, and she’s never going back on that decision, but she had thought that there was some sort of goal. Something that she could dedicate herself to, a cause to fight for. Not just staying alive.

“I don’t care,” Gimrizh says - and it’s a _lie_. “I care about keeping the people I care about alive, and that’s it.”

Jaesa doesn’t need to use her power to read any deeper than that. Her master’s lie sits heavy on her heart like a mouthful of ashes on her tongue. She knows that her master doesn’t truly believe that, knows that there’s mercy in her and compassion for those who have been destroyed by the Empire. Both her power tell her this, and the fact that she, her parents, and both her former masters are still alive. There’s a wall of fear around her master, blocking any ambition, any goals beside survival.

“Whatever you believe is best, master,” Jaesa replies quietly, backing down. She can’t change her master’s mind in a day. “I have faith in you.”

“I’m just trying to keep you all alive,” Gimrizh repeats, “That’s all.”

Vette tosses an arm around her shoulders, “Well you’ve done a bang-up job so far. We’re all still alive. Score.”

Oh - of course. That’s been the source of her master’s recent agitation. While Jaesa sees the resumption of the war as something negative that they can use to their advantage, Gimrizh sees it only as one more death trap that she must steer them through.

“Don’t worry, master” Jaesa assures her, “No matter what you end up deciding, I will follow you.”

~*~

After the frankly _unnerving_ discussion with her apprentice and a terse holo call with Baras, Gimrizh practically stalks into the meeting room the next evening. As she stands in front of her crew, as well as the healed Lieutenant Pierce, she tries to tuck away her rage. She’ll need it later for her assault on Faraire’s base, but right now it’ll only get in her way. There’s work that needs doing.

Quinn and the lieutenant are pouring over a holo map of the area, and Vette and Jaesa are more hovering around and watching than planning.

She stands next to Quinn and takes a look at the map of Faraire’s base, “Bring me up to speed.”

“Yes, my lord,” he begins, “General Faraire is garrisoned in a fortified wing of the Republic’s main base. This _used_ to be the Olaris Spaceport before the Republic’s restoration efforts collapsed. It is currently being used as their operations headquarters.”

“Faraire’s got a huge team protecting him,” Pierce interjects, “Conscripted men, but a lot more than we’ve got.”

Quinn looks like he’s trying very hard not to snap at Pierce, “My lord, the lieutenant’s statistics are inexact, but the numbers do favor Faraire. However, there are ways around that.”

Numbers don’t win a battle, but they do help. “If you have a plan,” she says, trying not to think about her earlier conversation with Jaesa and the fact that apparently everyone has a plan besides her, “let’s hear it.”

“To maximize our chances, we must coordinate three simultaneous strikes,” Quinn explains, pointing to different sections of the map to illustrate his plan, “One will destroy the base’s power station. Another will sabotage the spaceport force field to thwart any reinforcements, and the last will force the conscripted regiment of Faraire’s army to flee.”

“Sounds simple enough,” she agrees. A closer look at the map shows that the line Quinn drew for the third team goes straight to the heart of the base, where Faraire undoubtedly is. “I presume that I shall be joining the final team?”

He glances at the point she’s staring at and then nods, “Correct, my lord. Since you will be the one to take out Faraire, it will be prudent to assign you there.”

“So I’ll lead the front line assault,” Gimrizh confirms, “and the other two teams? Where should everyone else go?”

“I shall coordinate from here, my lord,” Quinn informs her, “As for your second-”

Pierce steps in and says confidently, “I’m the best choice for front line work. You need a soldier.”

Quinn glares at him from across the holo, “I disagree. If the frontal assault isn’t handled correctly, your route into the command center will be clogged with run-over battlefield soldiers. In my opinion, Jaesa should join you. She can use her power to see into the hearts of the enemy and identify the insecure ranks.”

That would be a simple way to thin out the conscripted troops from Faraire’s squads. She’s also pleased with the idea of Jaesa’s first real battlefield experience being by her side. They’ll be killing soldiers of the Republic and if Jaesa is unwilling to spill blood, it would be best for her to be there, without any Imperial outsiders to watch and question her apprentice. “Good idea. I’ll take Jaesa with me.”

“Whatever you say, master,” Jaesa chimes in from across the room, “I will be ready.”

“Good,” Gimrizh turns back to the holo, “That leaves the power station and the spaceport force field.”

Quinn enlarges the map’s power station, a series of blue dots and lines marked with warnings, “If the traps and mines that protect the power station aren’t circumvented in time, you’ll be under constant turret fire inside the Republic base.”

Traps. Well, in that case she knows the right person for the job. “Vette, could you take care of that?”

Vette gives her a cheery thumbs up, “You got it, boss.”

“Then Vette will clear the power station,” Quinn agrees, “Unless Pierce can lock the spaceport force field in time, you’ll face Faraire’s reinforcements inside the base.”

Pierce crosses his arms and frowns, “That’s unlikely.  A job like this is easy, if you know what you’re doing.”

“That’s everything then,” Gimrizh hastily interjects, trying to stop a fight from starting right before a job, “Once me and Jaesa have cleared the way on the front, we’ll invade General Faraire’s command center. That’ll be the last member of the War Trust left on Taris.”

“Then let’s get this war started,” Pierce says enthusiastically.

Quinn passes out earpieces for them all, “Good luck, my lord. I’ll be coordinating the attacks via commlinks.”

“Don’t worry, _captain_ ,” Pierce comments, grabbing his commlink, “The _real_ soldiers have got this one.”

Oh dear. Gimrizh shoots Quinn a look to stop him from continuing the argument that the lieutenant is apparently trying to begin. At her insistent glance, Quinn sighs and steps back from the holo, letting his obvious retort die on his lips. At least they won’t have any infighting before this mission. She’s not really designed to be a buffer, and she does best when her crew aren’t at each other’s throats. Besides, they have a job to do. Quinn and the lieutenant can bicker with each other all they want _after_ they complete the task at hand.

She secures her commlink and takes one last look at the holo, sinking in every detail of the map, “All right. Let’s finish this.”

~*~

Malavai observes the holo of the Olaris spaceport, a bright map of the enemy territory marked with four moving red dots - the trackers on the group’s commlinks. Vette and the Lieutenant have split from Lord Gimrizh and Jaesa, who are now approaching the main gates of Olaris. The general’s main base isn’t in the spaceport proper. It’s a compound inside the city, on the spaceport’s edge, which is rather lucky for them, as an assault on the spaceport itself would require far more troops than the small contingent that’s currently following Gimrizh.

“ _I’m entering the generator station now_ ,” the lieutenant reports, his voice coming over through a burst of bolt fire and static before the link shuts off.

The map zooms in on the lieutenant’s location so that Malavai can see the force field generator station’s layout more clearly. “Turn left at the junction,” he informs him, “The main generator will be up ahead.”

There’s another interjection of static and blaster fire as the lieutenant snaps at him, “ _I know where I’m going_.”

Pierce’s uncouth rudeness is quite irritating. While Malavai would never hope for the lieutenant’s failure, as this _is_ a critical mission, he does wonder if it would really be all that detrimental to the Empire’s goals if the lieutenant happened to be shot once he’s completed his job. Distractingly, one of the trackers keeps flashing around in the corner of his eyes. Malavai rotates the map to check on Vette’s location. The red dot that marks her is flickering from side to side in the power station, “Vette, report.”

“ _There’s like a million mines in here okay_!” Vette practically yells at him, “ _I can report when I’m not trying to avoid death by bomb_!”

Malavai tries not to roll his eyes. Even though she can’t see it, it’s still not professional. “Do you require backup?” he asks.

“ _No!_ ” Vette’s voice cracks over the comm. Her position darts forward, nearing the center of the power station, “ _I’ve almost got this - give me - maybe two minutes_?”

Regardless, she’s likely causing a good deal of noise and she can’t disable the station if she’s fighting off Republic troops. Malavai pulls up the security camera feed from the station and checks on the location of the squad that’s posted near Vette’s position - the Olaris Spaceport has _laughably poor_ security, and he’s not even a professional slicer. “Once you’ve disabled the generator,” he tells her, “it would be best to leave through the series of security tunnels leading away from the main station. If you leave the way you came in, a squad of Republic soldiers will be waiting to intercept you.”

There’s silence for a moment or two, and then Vette’s back online, “ _Got it!_ ” she says gleefully.

In the security feed, the pubs suddenly leap to their feet and rush towards Vette’s location, likely drawn by the power shut off. “The squadron is moving to engage. Can you see the tunnel complex?”

“ _No there’s no- oh wait there it is,_ ” Vette replies, before her comm shuts off.

She keeps moving through the series of tunnels he mentioned however, so she should be fine on her way back to the Crater Command Base.

“ _All done here_ ,” the lieutenant gruffly reports, moving away from the shield generator.

Excellent, two down. Lord Gimrizh is already making her way through the first level of General Faraire’s compound. He’s not completely sure if she’s passed the front line of Republic troops yet, as the security in the general’s main compound is taking him a good deal longer to break through. Three separate decryption programs are currently running, he should be able to pull up the security feed from Faraire’s compound in a few more minutes. Failure is unacceptable.

Lord Gimrizh opens her comm, “ _Jaesa chased off the conscripts and we’ve broken into the central compound. We’ll proceed to the basement as soon as possible. How goes the rest of the operation?_ ”

“Congratulations, my lord,” he says first, before updating her, “I’m pleased to report that the Republic power station has been destroyed. Vette went through the traps with surprising skill. I doubt anyone else could have achieved it - you were quite correct in assigning her to strike the power station.”

He can hear the grin on her lips as she replies, “ _Vette does seem to always surprise me._ ”

“When she puts her mind to it, she can be a valuable asset,” he agrees, “With the base security systems down, the automatic turrets and laser defenses will pose no problem to you in the compound’s center. On the other front, Lieutenant Pierce was able to sabotage and lock the Olaris Spaceport force field controls.”

“ _The lieutenant_ is _rather skilled, isn’t he_?” she says thoughtfully.

Malavai has his own, somewhat different opinions in the matter, “The credit is yours for identifying his strengths,” he replies, trying to avoid actually complementing the lieutenant.

She moves on, “ _What’s between me and Faraire_?”

In the nick of time, his decryption program manages to come through. He slices into the compound’s security and immediately pulls up the locations of every Republic soldier between the Lord Gimrizh and General Faraire. “The general’s elite guard clogs the way to the command center. I would assume that they are rather skilled - for Republic men, that is.”

“ _Really now,_ ” she drawls, _“you know a few elite guards won’t stop me_.”

“I have great faith in you, my lord,” he says honestly.

In the camera footage of the front hall, he can see her kick down the heavy durasteel doors and there is a corresponding burst of static through the comms. “ _That truly warms my hearts, Quinn_ ,” she says as she steps through the doorway, only halfway sarcastic.

“Good luck, my lord,” he says, and then the comm goes out and she moves into the basement.

He’s able to monitor her progress only part of the way through. She cuts a swath out of the Republic forces, followed by Jaesa Willsaam and the small contingent of Imperial soldiers who accompanied her. As far as Malavai can tell, Faraire is hiding in the compound’s basement, but there aren’t any security cameras or mics that he can tap into down there. He has to give a point to the general there, prioritizing paranoia over security did pay off for them in this one instance.

Eventually, she and Jaesa disappear into the basement and he loses visual. Their trackers indicate a steady progress towards the command center. Then the Republic compound’s channel flashes a stand down and retreat order. The few squads that are left start getting as far away from the center bunker as possible.

“ _Quinn_ ,” Gimrizh says, sounding out of breath and slightly panicked, “ _Remember how we thought that they probably made more Siantide weapons_?”

He freezes. What the hells could the Republic have built that could possibly pose a threat to his lord? Even Durant’s Siantide blaster hadn’t been a challenge for her to dismantle and destroy. “My lord, are you alright?”

“ _Jaesa was sent flying, but I’m holding out-_ ” Her comm cuts off.

Malavai checks the holo map. The same network of security tunnels that he directed Vette towards leads straight past the Crater Command Base and through Faraire’s compound. There’s a series of laser grids throughout the tunnels and only one network access close to the compound, which is why none of them had considered making the offensive through the tunnels to begin with. But Vette sabotaged the power station, the laser grids should be down. Going underground, with a squad of troopers shouldn’t take him too long.

He flips open Vette and the lieutenant’s comm channels, “I’m sending coordinates for a rendezvous point now, I’ll meet you there shortly.”

They both reply right away and he abandons the holo map, grabs his blaster, and heads out.

~*~

Gimrizh is picking shards of the absurdly overpowered murder droid out of her gut and trying to make sure that none of the falling debris gets on Jaesa when General Faraire makes a run for it. As slip ups go, this one is pretty understandable. Jaesa’s too far away to make a run for the general, and she’s considering that maybe she can throw her lightsaber at him.

Then Quinn shows up.

Vette and Lieutenant Pierce are right behind him, followed by a squad of Imperial soldiers and Moff Hurdenn. _Her crew_ , she thinks fondly, through a thin haze of pain that spikes sharply with every step she takes towards the general.

“I can always count on you, Quinn,” she says. Faraire is held at blaster point, unable to flee. Good. He deserves it after that damned Siantide droid. Maybe she can get Quinn to ‘accidentally’ shoot him in the foot or something before she kills him. Sure, it’s unlikely, but it’d be funny. Or perhaps that’s just the pain talking.

Quinn presses on Faraire’s back until the general is forced to kneel on the ground before her, “I am only doing my job, my lord,” he says smugly, “but in this situation, it’s my pleasure to do so.”

“I surrender,” Faraire bows his head and awaits her judgement, “I expect to be afforded the treatment promised to prisoners in the Treaty of Coruscant.”

For a brief moment, his words stay her hand. It’s not as though he’s a threat to her anymore. She’s defeated him, his soldiers, his plans, and even the best droid his prized Project Siantide could provide. There are Imperial soldiers here, who could take the general into custody and then… Then what? She doubts that interrogation would get much out of the general, and in that case she would be condemning him to a short, pain filled life. Is not a swift death more merciful? She has herself to think about too, herself and her crew. Baras will not view mercy lightly, and he expressly ordered the death of the War Trust. She has learned her lesson from the Jedi Knight Mashallon well.

So she presses the tip of her red lightsaber to his neck and tells him, “The Treaty of Coruscant is a thing of the past and my master has ordered your execution.”

All she does it push her wrist forward the tiniest bit and her blade sinks through his throat like the flesh is air. Faraire chokes on blood and then falls, the life draining out of him into the force like a thin breath returning to the atmosphere.

That’s that over with.

The soldiers busy themselves cleaning up the mess she’s made, and Vette helps Jaesa find her saberstaff that got knocked out of her hands during the fight. A couple of the troops, led by Pierce, go to try and salvage whatever they can find from the Siantide droid. There won’t be much to salvage. She trashed it pretty thoroughly. They do try anyways.

“My lord,” Quinn says, making his way to her side, “Sit down, please.”

She blinks at him, “What?”

“You’re bleeding quite heavily. Please sit down while I patch you up,” he reiterates with a worried expression.

Ah yes, the shards of droit-bits peppering her side. She takes a seat on one of the basement steps and tugs off her shirt, leaving her in a ruined piece of mesh armour and chest wrappings, her side stained with blood. Quinn sticks her with a kolto injection and a local anesthetic. His med kit is spread out over the first step, a series of vials and bandages and patches. It’s meticulously organized, every small thing labeled and kept in its proper place.

He starts removing the shards of metal from her side. To distract herself, she picks up a small vial of clear liquid no bigger than her thumbnail. “What’s this?”

“Purified, undiluted spice, my lord,” he informs her, “It’s used as a painkiller and stimulant for invasive field surgery.”

Very carefully, she puts the bottle back in the kit. Spice is one thing that she has no desire to mess with ever in her entire life. Quinn digs out an inch long splinter from her side and she finds something else shiny. She grabs a thin, metal instrument that almost looks like a light pen, “And this?”

Quinn glances up from her side to look at what she’s holding, “A laser scalpel. Er- my lord, I believe you’re holding it upside down.”

She drops it, “Sorry.”

He presses a kolto patch to her side and wraps thick white bandages around her stomach to keep the kolto against her wounds. Then he packs up his kit and helps her to her feet. “That’s all I can do for now, my lord. I do advise you to avoid exacerbating the injury as much as possible. I should also change the kolto out in the next few hours.”

“I make no promises,” she quips. She leaves her torn to shreds shirt behind and hopes that she can wash the blood out of her pants, or at least that the red doesn’t show up too badly on the black. Another day, another ruined shirt.

Moff Hurdenn decides that it’s his lucky day and approaches her, “Congratulations on the success of your mission. Taking down the War Trust is an incredible victory. It is clear that you are the future of the Empire, and I hope that you will come to count me among your close allies.”

He’s not subtle, but she doesn’t particularly care. At least he’s upfront about his little attempt at a power play, “I may call on you someday, Hurdenn,” she tells him. A moff could prove useful to her, so long as it doesn’t draw Baras’ suspicions.

“You can count on me, Lord Gimrizh,” he says, puffing up his chest. He snaps his fingers and Lieutenant Pierce stops assisting in the salvage operation and comes over, “As a show of support, I place Lieutenant Pierce under your command. He will be invaluable to your domination of the Republic.”

The lieutenant shrugs, “Works for me. Done what I can on Taris. Glad you’re willing to let me go, Hurdenn.”

So her crew will grow by one. She actually quite likes Pierce. He’s a good soldier, and he’s not one of the simpering idiots that run rampant in Imperial command like Hurdenn is. He’s a decent sort. Most importantly, the odds of his having any secret agenda or being the moff’s pawn are ridiculously low. “You’re meant for greater things, lieutenant,” she tells him lightly, “I’ll be glad to have you.”

“You won’t be disappointed,” Pierce promises.

She’s so close to Quinn that she can feel him bristle at the idea of Pierce joining them. The two haven’t exactly gotten along, and she hopes it won’t be an issue, or if there is, they’ll get past it. Quinn and Vette didn’t get along at first, but that’s smoothed itself out lately. Or perhaps she’s being a bit optimistic.

“Then welcome to my crew,” she says, reaching out to shake his hand and having him almost break her fingers. Damn that guy’s got a strong grip.

Vette bounces over, Jaesa leaning on her shoulders, “Did I hear that we’re going to have a new ship-friend?” she says joyfully. She gestures to Gimrizh’s bloody torso, “Just a heads up, this is pretty much what it’s always like.”

Pierce doesn’t seem phased, “Blood doesn’t bother me.”

“No, not the blood,” Vette replies, poking Gimrizh mockingly in the shoulder, “I just mean that she never wears a fucking shirt.”

Jaesa snorts and clamps her hands over her mouth.

“Really?” Gimrizh glares at the Twi’lek, “My shirt got _ruined_ by murder droid shrapnel. What more do you want from me?” She looks back at the lieutenant, “As you can probably guess, we’re a bit unusual as far as a military positing goes. I don’t know what sort of experiences you’ve had during your career, but I hope you’ll feel free to bring any advice you might have to the table.”

That seems to please the lieutenant, “It’d be good to have a bit more freedom.”

“You’ll get it,” she assures him.

And thus, another person joins _Horizon_ ’s crew.

~*~

Gimrizh contemplates her future through the viewport of her ship’s bridge. So far, Pierce seems to be a good addition to her crew. It’ll be helpful to have another heavy hitter on board. Especially if they’re going to be fighting in this damn war that they’re starting.

She’s sent a report to Baras confirming the success of her mission, and now they’re in neutral space a couple dozen parsecs out of Taris, awaiting his holo. There are still two members of the War Trust left alive, and she knows that’s where Baras will send her next. It’s a peculiar stage they’re in right now, almost at war, and yet not quite. It’s odd. They’re starting a war and she’s almost comfortable right now, sitting in her chair and staring at the stars, Quinn a few feet away working. Vette and Pierce are messing around with heavy blasters and Jaesa’s practicing Sith meditation. It’s a pleasant time onboard, and she’s thinking about war.

“My lord,” Quinn speaks up, “May I ask a personal question?”

“Of course,” she says immediately, not even needing to think about it, “You never need to ask.”

He turns around in his chair so that he’s facing her directly, “As a military man, above all else, I value discipline, the chain of command, and uncompromising dedication to serving the Empire’s interests. You seem to value those same traits, however I’ve noticed that you often don’t follow the official hierarchy. That’s not to say that I don’t often see the need for action above propriety, you know that’s not the case. It’s just that often you seem to, forgive me for my presumptiveness, but you seem to be hesitant in giving orders.”

That’s not quite what she had been expecting, “What do you mean? I’m not doubting you, just… curious, is all.”

“During our mission on Taris,” he explains, “In the Republic mine, you almost deferred to me. I have no issue with your more lax method of command, my lord. Only it’s a rare day when you outright give anyone on your crew orders.”

Well he’s not wrong. She’s unused to command and as such, she tends to really take Quinn’s advice to heart. He’s a more experienced soldier and has spent a much longer time working against the Republic than she has. It would be foolish of her _not_ to take his advice. She’s willing to admit that she doesn’t always know best. “You think I need to give more orders?”

“It is typical of someone with as much power and station as yourself,” he agrees.

“Okay…” she thinks about it and then leans over on the terminal, smirking at him, “Then I order you… to make me dinner later.”

“That’s-” he says, clearly flustered.

The smirk spreads to a full grin, “An order. _Captain_.”

“Very well, my lord,” he says at last, gracefully accepting his defeat.

Another success. She refuses to go back to shitty food, not when she knows what she’s been missing out on. Besides, she doesn’t hear much complaining. “What are you reading?” she asks, trying to get a glimpse of the terminal he was working at.

He pauses in the middle of opening a file, “Is that an order?” he inquires, almost tauntingly.

“It’s a formal request.” She leans a bit more forward to the point where she’s basically resting her head on her arms, trying to see what he’s reading.

“It’s my _inbox_ , my lord,” he tells her, “I doubt it would interest you.”

She's undeterred. “Anything good?”

Apparently realizing that resistance is futile, Quinn gives in and looks through his mail, “I regret to inform you there’s nothing from Lord Baras-” Not a surprise, she’s pretty certain Baras will holo her as soon as he can. “My brother has received a transfer,” he says, proudly turning the projector to give her a clear view.

“Give Lucian my congratulations,” she says sincerely, looking at the file. Half of it is the bottom of a letter that she doesn’t read, but the other half is a flicker holo of Lucian standing in front of a TIE striker, pointing out a new addition to his rank badge. “Where’s he being transferred to?”

“A space station orbiting Cato Neimoidia. It’s not a high profile position as a star destroyer would be,” he says, refusing to be anything but positive and supporting for his brother, “but the pilots at this research station are known for being highly skilled. It’s more a matter of being appreciated in the circles where it counts.”

“I don’t know much about piloting, but that does sound impressive,” she admits, “He’s a good person, he deserves more recognition.”

Quinn’s cheeks flush faintly, “A good person, but he could perhaps learn not to be so blatantly rude at times.”

“Oh please,” she says, “If you’re talking about that time on Dromund Kaas, he had no idea that I was a Sith. Besides, you shouldn’t be mad with him for speaking his mind. I didn’t have a problem with it.”

“As you say-” Quinn pauses. His eyes dart down the terminal screen and then widen. She watches as he reads the same few lines of text over and over.

She stands and moves to his side, “Quinn? Is there- what’s wrong?”

Slowly, as if he can’t believe his own eyes, he stares at her and tells her in a voice as though someone’s just punched him, “We- we’ve lost Balmorra. The Republic has taken control of the planet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *claps hands* Horizon Trash Team! Assemble!  
> Aw man guys we're so close to the non-canon stuff I can almost taste it! Once we get through Quesh (the sucky first time, not the 'oh fuck' second time) I'm gonna start going off the beaten path.  
> As always, I live for comments~


	10. Bleed the Water Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er, warnings for some frank discussions of slavery/electroshock collars. And associated grossness.  
> Shout out to FallenAscendant, my fab beta!

Two figures stand at the edge of a massive viewport in Carrik Station. One is a tall and stately Mirialan, his eyes staring out into space, surveying the amassing Republic fleet and catching the first glimpses of Coruscant’s sunrise. His companion is a dark skinned human who stands proudly next to him with her hands clasped behind her back. Both carry lightsabers at their hips.

“Congratulations, Celebris,” Thutrel tells his companion. He tilts his head to smile sincerely at her, “Your victory on Balmorra is to be commended.”

Celebris keeps staring out into the moving fleet, “I do not deserve congratulations. Balmorra was one more planet on which to stop the Empire’s never ceasing conquest. It is my duty to secure the galactic peace. Any Jedi would have done the same.”

Her humility is highly befitting one of her station. While some younger Jedi may be more arrogant, more egotistical, Celebris is neither. Thutrel has a great deal of admiration and respect for her. “Yet no other Jedi did. Your devotion to the good of the Republic and the freedom of the galaxy is admirable. While it greatly saddens me that the late Balmorran President is no longer with us, I believe that your promotion of Tai Cordan will be of great benefit to the planet. You have good judgement and are sharp of mind, my friend.”

“You always see the best in people,” she muses.

Perhaps he does. “I believe that everyone has good in them,” he tells her honestly, “sometimes it may be hidden, but it’s always there.”

Celebris thinks on this and then says to him, “I protect the Jedi and the Republic because I am a shield used to break the Empire’s forces. I accept that not all those I face will surrender, as do all Jedi who are forced to fight in this cold war. You do not. You attempt to redeem all those you meet in battle. How shall you fare in war?”

“Do you truly think that we are approaching open warfare?” Thutrel asks.

Her eyes flicker over to his for just a moment, “You sense it as well, do you not? I can feel the coming conflict in the force. Someone moves in the shadows, lighting the torches of war.”

He too has sensed it, although he hoped his visions were wrong. “The force stirs, it is true. I regret that we may indeed be approaching a time of great conflict. I have not your gift for foresight. What does the force reveal to you?”

“Precious little,” she admits, “I can see the tides of war looming over us like a great cloud perched to engulf the sky. As always, I see myself, making plays across the galaxy; Hoth, Belsavis, Voss. In the next few months to come, my future is more chaotic than it has ever been. Already, I can see a cornerstone of my own future. I shall gain a padawan.”

“Wonderful,” he says, thinking of his own student, Kira, and the progress he has watched her make, “the bond between padawan and master is a precious thing. Perhaps it shall bring you some joy during these dark times.”

Celebris’ head tilts down a tiny fraction, the only change in emotion she reveals, “I cannot say with certainty. While I may see the next month with some clarity, after that… I do not know. It is as though I am holding a light in a shadowed room to read a tapestry, and someone snuffs out my light and blinds me. I have clarity, and then suddenly there is nothing.”

“What could it be?” Thutrel inquires, concerned for what could hamper his friend’s usually clear sight in such a manner.

“My own death perhaps,” she begins morbidly, “or a crossroads that has yet to lay its foundations. An important choice someone has not made. It could be many things. I refuse to dwell on it overmuch. The force works in mysterious ways and what shall happen will happen. There is little I can do to prevent the will of the force.”

Still, it is worrisome. “If you ever need assistance,” he promises her, “I shall do everything in my power to deliver it.”

Celebris acquiesces, “Thank you for your offer. How was your recent journey to Hoth?”

“Successful,” he says vaguely, aware of the secrecy of his mission, “Now I must wait for our chance. Who knows how long before we can make our move?”

“I am not privy to your plans,” she agrees, “but I imagine that you may wait a long while for your moment to strike. Once we are at war, your carefully laid plans to cut the head off the hydra will certainly be delayed. It is almost ironic. Your task could provide an end to the war and yet the war shall hinder it.”

It is not an amusing irony, “I shall be waiting regardless. The very least I can do is provide aid to those who need it instead of sitting on my ship, waiting for a holo.”

“You are, as always, a better person than we all deserve,” she praises him. It rings of honesty, not false platitudes.

He cannot refute that. It is a subjective statement. “I merely wish to serve the galaxy as best as I can now. The mistakes of my past are many, and still, here I stand. If there is something my experiences can offer, then I shall provide it without hesitation.”

“Yes,” she says thoughtfully, as though his words have struck a deep chord within her, “we all must atone for our past actions.”

That is not quite what he meant, “The light side of the force offers atonement for all who seek it. Our job is to be a guide.”

“As always, your wisdom eclipses my visions,” she comments, “I hope your wisdom shall serve you well as you continue to fight for the freedom of the galaxy. Stay strong through the coming war.”

He hesitates at the threshold of leaving her, “Before I go… your visions… have they...?”

Celebris slowly turns her eyes on him, a faint pity and sadness in her gaze, “I am sorry, Thutrel. As always, I have looked the galaxy over, and as always, I cannot see your cousin. I think that I do not know her well enough to find her. Perhaps she does not wish to be found. If this Sith did know her, then perhaps your cousin now lives in the arms of the dark side and does not care to find you.”

“I understand,” he says, defeated again, but not struck down permanently, “Thank you for indulging this attachment of mine.”

She nods as he leaves, “May the force be with you.”

“And with you, my friend.”

~*~

“Vette?” Gimrizh asks, stepping into the engine room. Part of the hyperdrive has been stripped of it’s durasteel covering and a tangle of wires is spread out across the machine. Toovee is shut off and plugged into the terminal nearby. She maneuvers around a toolkit and leans over to where Vette’s fiddling with a section of hyperdrive. “You wanted to speak with me?”

Vette tucks a hydrospanner behind her lekku, “Yeah! I need some cash.”

This promises to be an interesting conversation. Gimrizh pulls over a supply crate and sits down next to Vette, “Can I get a few more details?”

“It’s just…” Vette turns to face her, losing the pretense of tuning up the hyperdrive, “remember Taunt?”

Well this isn’t going the way she expected. “From your gang on Nar Shaddaa? Of course.”

Vette hesitates for a second, lacing her fingers together nervously, “I was thinking. I’ve always kinda had sister figures in my life - Taunt, Risha -”

“You’ve never mentioned Risha,” Gimrizh tells her.

Her jaw drops, “Really? Stars, she was Nok Drayen’s daughter. She died after her father disappeared and his crew disbanded, but before that… We were really close. She was brilliant, and hilarious, which is a great combination. We’d been together since Drayen freed me from slavery. We were basically sisters.”

There’s a small knot in her throat that Gimrizh has to speak around for her next sentence, but she manages, “She does sound like an amazing person.”

“Yeah, we went through a lot together,” Vette says, smiling at the fond memories, “First time I saw Alderaan was with her. We went through the _Headhunter_ together, built a ship from scratch even. She gave me my first blaster. She was something.”

“I’m sorry that you lost her,” Gimrizh says truthfully.

“It was years ago,” Vette waves it off. “Like I said, I’ve always found stand in big sisters. Risha, then Taunt, now you, I guess.”

Gimrizh chokes, “No- I mean - I’m not-”

Vette puts a hand on her shoulder, “Deep breaths, dear.”

“Shut up.” She rolls her eyes at her. Gimrizh pushes Vette’s hand off and tries to look stern, “Get back to your eventual explanation of what you need credits for.”

“Well I was thinking about my sister,” Vette starts.

“Which one?”

Vette punches her, “My _actual_ sister. You know, blood relative. Stand-in relations are all well and good but seeing the old gang just made me miss my mom and sister. Which is sort of weird. My memories are so old that I remember having the memories more than I remember the actual events. Did that make any sense?”

Perhaps one of the easiest things about never knowing her parents, if they’re even still alive, is that there’s nothing for Gimrizh to miss. No sad old memories of a mother or father to hurt her, just a pervasive utter lack of knowledge. Oh, over the years she’s wondered. Thought about a possible, fictional family out there. It’s not worth her wasting sleep over. If her parents are still alive somewhere, and weren’t killed by Sith when she was taken to Korriban, then there’s still nothing that she can do about it. It doesn’t matter to her. “Would it help to talk about it?” she suggests to Vette.

“Where’d you read that bit of advice?” Vette asks with a laugh, “I was thinking… what would Tivva be like today? The last time I saw my sister she was ten? Twelve? She was getting pretty, too.”

Gimrizh pauses, “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

The look Vette gives her is one of complete lack of understanding. Gimrizh is clearly missing something very important, “You’re so sheltered sometimes, it’s weird. A pretty Twi’lek slave gets sold into the sex trade as soon as someone wants to buy ‘em. Tivva got pretty and my mom started smearing dirt on her cheeks, broke her nose a couple times. Anything was better than some creepy old man seeing her and taking a liking to her.”

Gimrizh thanks the stars that she had never angered an overseer back on Korriban. She had always been well aware that any failure would lead her to the gates of a slave camp, but fortunately she’d been successful and sensitive enough to the ways of the force to avoid that possibility. “I didn’t think of that… I’m sorry.”

“Eh,” Vette shrugs, “you didn’t know. It probably wouldn’t have happened to you anyways, Zabraks aren’t quite the main market for sex. Your species is seen more in fighting pits.”

Gimrizh shudders, “That’s cheery.”

“I’m just telling you how it is,” Vette says matter of factly. “Anyways, that’s what I want money for. I’ve tried to find Tivva on my own, but I’ve gotten a whole lot of nothing. I want to hire a bounty hunter.”

That’s an easily granted request. “Of course. Whatever you need, feel free to take it from my accounts.”

“You’re- you’re-” Vette squeals, “the _best_!”

"No. Stop. My ego can't take it," Gimrizh drawls sarcastically, “Whatever you do, don’t praise me more.”

Vette laughs, “Oh shut up.” She nudges Gimrizh lightly in the side and leans in, almost like a hug but not quite, “Really though. Thank you. I promise I’ll try not to bankrupt you in bounty hunter fees.”

“Yes, please refrain from leaving me without any money,” Gimrizh comments, “otherwise, how can I continue to fund your extravagant lifestyle?”

“There’s no other choice - you’ll have to get a part-time job,” Vette says overdramatically. She pulls out the hydrospanner and returns to her work on the hyperdrive. A number of thin red wires get disconnected and she reroutes a heavy cable to the same pinlock instead. “Imagine. You, working at a shitty cantina somewhere in the mid rim, stuck wiping down tables and listening to assholes gripe and make complaints.”

Gimrizh takes a moment to consider the scenario, “I’d last maybe… a week. Then I’d go insane and kill everyone.”

There’s a clunk of footsteps entering the engine room and Gimrizh turns around to see the latest addition to their crew. Pierce stomps in with a highly irritated expression on his face. “Got any work that needs doing?” he asks, like he’s hoping she’ll direct him towards a group of pubs that need their heads smashed in.

“Bad day?” Vette asks, handing the hydrospanner over to Gimrizh and using both her hands to crank a power coupling into place. She kicks a crate over to Pierce with her toes. “Share your woes.”

Pierce crosses his meaty arms and takes the offered seat. “Got briefed on what I’ll be handling around on board. Didn’t know the captain ran things around here.”

It’s one little tiny sentence and already Gimrizh feels like banging her head against a wall. She’s been hoping that since both Pierce and Quinn are soldiers, they’ll be professional and mature about whatever disagreement has arisen between them. Perhaps that is expecting too much of them. “Do you have a problem with Quinn?”

“I’d rather take my orders direct,” Pierce explains, “Not a fan of bootlickers. All about regulations, not about the soldiers.”

It could be worse, “Just don’t take a page out of Vette’s book, and we can all get along.”

He looks at Vette with far more approval than before, “You got in a fight with the captain?”

“Yep,” Vette says, picking up the durasteel covering and slamming it back into place. She leans her shoulder into it until it clicks in, “First week he was here. It was 99 percent trash talking, he said a bunch of shit about me being lazy and never doing any work. I said he was a speciesist asshole who didn’t give a damn about anyone else. Come to think of it, he never addressed the speciesism point.”

Pierce looks very impressed. Too impressed, actually, if Gimrizh ever wants to defuse the situation. She reiterates, “As I said, don’t follow her example.”

“Hn,” Pierce shrugs and seems to sort of brush it off. At least he’s pretty unflappable. “Alright, boss. If you’ve got a moment, want to spar?”

They’re meant to be heading to the mid rim to assist Darth Vengean’s attack on the Republic’s holdings there, but they’ve still got another day or two in hyperspace before then. She has plenty of time to recover from any bad bruises. It actually sounds like a fun offer, and she doesn’t hesitate in accepting, “Sure. Cargo hold’s the best place for fighting.”

The three of them head across the hall to the hold. Vette dumps her tools in the engine room and follows them, apparently deciding that sparring is a spectator sport.

Jaesa’s meditating in the hold, but leaps to her feet as soon as they enter, “Master?”

“It’s alright,” Gimrizh waves her hand at her apprentice, letting her know that there’s not an issue, “I’m going to be doing a bit of training with Pierce. Feel free to watch, I suppose?”

Vette knocks over a cabinet and uses it as a seat, patting the space next to her and grinning when Jaesa takes the invitation and joins her. “I would be honored to watch you fight, master,” Jaesa says, “I will take the demonstration as a lesson.”

“I’ll take it as quality entertainment,” Vette comments. She eyes Pierce as he strips off the outer layer of armour and undershirt, leaving thick reinforced pants and arm bracers, but no shirt or even boots. “Damn,” she whistles, “You’re built like a fucking wampa.”

“Years of training,” he tells her.

Gimrizh kicks her boots off and throws her shirt at Vette. She drops her lightsaber belt by the two spectators much more carefully and starts considering the rack of practice sabers. “Any rules?”

“Barehanded,” Pierce decides on. He smirks as she has to abandon her dulled vibroswords before she can even pick them up, “And no using the force.”

She can do that, maybe. “Alright. Anywhere off limits?”

He looks her up and down - he’s got at least seven inches of height on her and probably a hundred pounds of muscle that she can just never build. “Nah,” he says confidently, “I can handle it.”

Suddenly, she finds herself acutely aware of the fact that she has always been rather small, both in height and frame. His hands look bigger than her face. Perhaps this is less of a good idea than she thought. “Begin,” she says, bringing her hands up to guard her face.

A second later she has to duck as Pierce tries to slam his fist into her nose. She can hear Vette clap approvingly as she skids backwards to get a bit of distance. Her feet push off the floor and she snaps two rapid kicks at him, one to the gut and then she pivots and gets off the second one to his head. Pierce avoids the first and blocks the second with his forearm.

If she had a lightsaber right now, she’d be taking advantage of his occupied arm to strike out with her blades. Only she doesn’t have a lightsaber and is seriously regretting giving up that concession.

With very little effort, he pushes her off and sends her stumbling backwards. He’s a ruthless bastard too, and before she can get both her feet back firmly beneath her, he buries his fist in her gut. Right where she’s still healing from having her side full of droid shrapnel from Taris. Her breath is forced out of her lungs and she swears she can feel the partially healed cuts rip open. Bursts of wicked sharp and terribly aching pain pulse through her torso.

If she had any air to talk, she’d be cursing at him right now. All she can think is a pain-filled combination of _I’m fucked_ , and _fuck him_.

“Come on,” Pierce says unsympathetically, “walk it off.”

She falls forward and rams her shoulder into his chest. All he does is take a step backwards. There’s a tingling pain in her shoulder leaving her feeling like she just tried to bodyslam a durasteel wall.

They exchange blows, her kicking out at his shins and trying to jam her fingers into the few soft spot he has. He puts a few hits on her upper arms that are going to leave bruises and uses his longer arms and superior height to keep out of reach while still getting in hits of his own. He lunges forward and feints with his right hand before trying to catch her off guard with his left.

Gimrizh lets herself fall to the floor and somersaults behind him, coming up from a crouch to jab her knuckles into his kidneys.

A number of very inspired swears are thrown her way that almost make up for the pain in her gut. Then he spins around and backhands her.

Fortunately he misses her nose, but she’s definitely bruised her cheekbone and it feels like her jaw just got knocked out of place. Her teeth have clipped her lower lip and she tastes the copper hint of blood in her mouth.

It’s hard for her to tell if she or Pierce is the first to throw the next punch, but he grabs her arm and his hand sails past her nose by a mile. Using the firm grasp he has on her wrist, he tries to pull her towards him for another blow.

She spins around and plummets to her knees, using gravity and his own momentum to throw him over her.

Pierce hits the ground with an oof.

Jaesa politely applaudes her success while Vette continues loudly cheering and pumping her fist in the air.

Then Pierce kicks her legs out from under her and she finds herself sprawled flat on her back, every bone in her body protesting and a series of aches making themselves known. She can’t move, too dazed. Pierce gets up and puts his knee over her torso. There’s no way she can keep going, not with her gut feeling like it’s about to start gushing blood and bruises everywhere. If this is what’s going to happen to her if she tries to fight barehanded, she needs more practice. Everything hurts.

“Yield?” he asks, his fist at her throat.

“Fuck you,” Gimrizh mutters, “I think I’m dying.”

He laughs and gets off her, “You’re not dying, you’ll be fine. Did well. Could do with a bit of practice though.”

If everything didn’t hurt so damn much, she might be able to think of a witty comeback to that. Instead she just lies there and groans, trying not to contemplate ever having to move again.

“Wow, that was brutal,” Vette comments from the sidelines, sounding like she’s attempting to hold in a giggle, “Nice try there, your sithyness.”

“I thought my master did admirably,” Jaesa says, somewhat weakly.

“Please,” Vette replies, “he played her like a drum.” There’s a pause and a slight shuffling sound followed by Jaesa sighing in defeat, and a clink of metal on metal. Like they’re exchanging credit chips.

Gimrizh gasps, outraged, “Did you two place bets? And Vette bet _against me_? I feel so betrayed right now.”

Vette just laughs at her. She almost wishes that she had enough energy in her to turn her head and glare at Vette, but her neck hurts. The cargo hold doesn’t have a particularly interesting ceiling either. Just plain grey durasteel and a bunch of bolts. She imagines some insipid yet inspiring poster up there, but still doesn’t feel like moving.

There’s the sounds of someone entering the cargo hold and she can feel a slight, familiar ping in the force.

“My lord?” Quinn asks, shocked and surprised to see her just lying on the ground, “Are you alright?”

“I’m dying,” she says flatly.

Quinn kneels down next to her and looks her over, “You’re not dying, my lord,” he informs her, “a few bruises and sprains perhaps, and if it’s acceptable, I would like to make sure your stomach wounds haven’t reopened. Apart from that, you should be fine by the time we make contact with Darth Vengean’s flagship. If you’d like me to administer a painkiller, I’d be happy to do so.”

“No,” she declines, “let me wallow in my own suffering.”

He sighs and offers her his hand, “Your legs are working perfectly fine, my lord. You can make it to the medbay.”

“I’m contemplating every ill-thought out decision in my life that has led me to this point,” she stubbornly insists.

Vette snickers, “Where’s a holo recorder when you need one?”

Making a decision not to provide Vette with anymore fodder, especially on the off chance that she does actually manage to find a holo recorder, Gimrizh accepts Quinn’s hand and lets him pull her to her feet. She wipes the blood off her lip and presses her hair back into place. Then she gives her crew a stern look and orders, “Alright, show’s over, get back to work. I’m sure you all have stuff to do!”

Vette and Jaesa quickly scramble off the cabinet and head out the cargo hold. “Good fight,” Pierce comments on his way out, snapping a salute before he leaves the room.

Once everyone else has left the room, Quinn gives her a concerned look, “My lord, are you certain you’re alright?”

“Of course not,” she says seriously, “I’m dying, remember?”

~*~

Monk has outlived his usefulness. At first, Baras had thought that the Republic admiral would be one of the finest pieces in his collection. Having a member of the War Trust in his pocket has always given him an edge when it came to the vicious infighting that marks the Sith Order. Over the years, it’s certainly come in handy. A battle previously thought unwinnable suddenly falling to his soldiers, knowledge of where a specific ship is located that no other Sith could find, not even ones with their own collections of spies.

Now the game has changed. Baras has turned his gaze away from merely defeating his competition to bigger and better sights. If he plays his cards right, he can secure Monk’s death and rattle Darth Vengean’s standing in the eyes of the Dark Council. Oh, it won’t be enough to topple his master, not yet, but it shall cast suspicions on his master. Let the rest of the Council see his master as a faulty commander, a failed tactician, and then let their own pettiness do the rest.

He’s already set the trap for Moff Masken aboard his master’s flagship. The Republic fighters have attacked his master’s vessel and now his apprentice will sweep in, ready to kill Admiral Monk, not knowing a single iota of Baras’ true plans.

All the pieces are in place, now he just needs to spur his apprentice into action.

She answers his call almost immediately, a small blue figure of her kneeling on the floor of her ship illuminates his holo, “Master,” she says in greeting.

“Apprentice, one of our missing targets has revealed himself,” Baras informs her, “It is convenient that you are on your way to rendezvous with Darth Vengean’s offensive strike on the fringe systems. Regrettably, Admiral Monk has apparently caught wind of the plan and was waiting in ambush. He is laying siege to the flagship as we speak.”

The tiniest flash of confusion crosses her face before she speaks again, “I am less than an hour away from Darth Vengean’s dreadnaught. If you require it of me, I can offer aid as soon as possible.”

Good. She doesn’t suspect anything. Not that she would, of course, she’s powerful and good in a fight, but she’s never been particularly bright. “Do it. Plan Zero calls for Admiral Monk’s head - this may be our only opportunity to crush him. Moff Masken commands our flagship, board and aid him however you can. Remember, killing Monk is your first priority.”

“I am on my way right now, master,” she assures him.

He flicks the call shut and her image vanishes.

Sooner or later, his master’s seat on the Dark Council will be his. And then… then he can set his sight on even greater ambitions.

~*~

No sooner has _Horizon_ been secured in Darth Vengean’s airlock than the five of them spring into battle. A contingent of Republic fighters has landed in the hangar bay, and the two factions are fighting heavily. Jaesa can sense the emotions and pain of the dying as she runs after her master through the conflict. It’s not a pleasant experience and it’s something that she has to shut out. While her more unique sensory abilities often come in handy, there are times, like this, where she has to force it to stop. She might fall if she doesn’t.

Her master cuts through the Republic soldiers with ease and it's all Jaesa can do to just watch her back and try not to outwardly avoid killing any members of the Republic.

As Vette locks the hangar bay force field shut, Jaesa sinks her lightsaber into a trooper’s chest for the first time.

She didn’t have a choice, she tells herself. The man had been about to shoot Vette’s undefended back, and Jaesa hadn’t been able to incapacitate him in a timely manner without resorting to lethal force. It had been him or Vette. Even so, it leaves a sick feeling in her mouth and she can’t stop her hands from shaking around her lightsaber as she stares at the trooper’s body.

“Jaesa,” her master says sharply, “take deep breaths. You _cannot_ panic, not when we’re surrounded by Imperial soldiers.”

Jaesa does as she’s told, drawing deep heavy gulps of air and trying not to look at what she’s done, “Yes master. I understand. I won’t fail you.” She spins her saber around in her hands, deflecting a burst of bolts, “I’m alright.”

Gimrizh gives her one last look before plunging her red blade into a trooper’s head, “Keep yourself safe.”

Together, her master attacking and Jaesa defending, the two of them secure the dreadnaught’s airlock. A number of Imperial soldiers are pushed to the back where a medical droid awaits, and those who aren’t injured too badly grab blasters.

Her master draws the attention of the rest of the crew, “Jaesa and I are going to the bridge,” she informs them all, “we need to find Moff Masken, if anyone in this chaos knows where Admiral Monk is, it’ll be him. Pierce, I want you to gather the rest of the soldiers and chase the Republic off this vessel.”

The lieutenant nods, glancing over at the soldiers that they have saved so far, “Should be easy enough.”

“If Admiral Monk is still on this ship, then I want him captured and brought to me, understood?” She turns to the captain, “Quinn, take Vette and secure the hangar bay. Get the Republic out of here and make sure _Horizon_ isn’t damaged.”

There’s a bunch of saluting and ‘yes sir’s from the soldiers before everyone scrambles off to do as they’re told. Jaesa understands her master’s reasoning. It makes sense to keep her as far away from the fight as possible, in case she balks at the idea of having to kill a member of the Republic in front of a large group of Imperial soldiers. Best for her to follow in her master’s shadow and go speak to this Moff. Jaesa knows that she’s a danger to her master’s safety, and she understands her master’s desire to keep her on a tight leash.

Vette claps her hand on Jaesa’s shoulder before she splits to join the group clearing the hangar bay, “Hey, you did good, you know?”

“You did better,” Jaesa returns, unwilling to accept any compliments - she _killed_ someone for kriffs sake. She doesn’t _deserve_ any compliments, or for Vette to be so unyieldingly sympathetic towards her.

“Stars,” Vette rolls her eyes endearingly at her, “just take the compliment.”

Jaesa hesitates as Vette’s hand slips from her shoulder and quickly says, before Vette can vanish from sight, “Please stay safe. May the force be with you.”

“You and your Jedi-isms,” Vette says fondly, tossing the response over her shoulder as she flips her blasters around in her hands and moves to join the fight.

Jaesa searches the force, and then relaxes somewhat when she feels no dread surrounding Vette. Her friend should be alright, and how she manages to stay calm and even upbeat during conflict is a source of great mystery to Jaesa. It astounds and impresses her. She aspires to have the confidence that comes so easily to Vette.

“This way,” Gimrizh says, striding across the hangar bay, dodging Republic bolts as she goes.

A bulkhead wall blocks their way, but it only takes a moment of them pushing on it simultaneously for it to yield to the force. Jaesa will never get tired of tapping into the force alongside her master. There’s a resonance there that she never shared with her former master. She and her master share a tenuously thin and still developing training bond, but when they use the force in tandem like this, there’s a connection that cannot be denied.

They make their way through the dreadnaught’s halls at a brisk pace, pausing only briefly when a squad of Republic soldiers ambushes them.

Jaesa protects her master from their oncoming blaster fire while keeping an onslaught of ship debris flying towards them. At the same time her master flips around the soldiers, cutting them down with swift precision. The soldiers detain them for but a moment before they are moving on again. Fighting the Republic still hurts, but it’s an old ache in Jaesa’s chest. She knows that she’s made her choice, and now she _will_ come to terms with that.

They make it to the bridge without being stopped by anymore enemies. Blaster burns and bodies litter the bridge, evidence of an effort on the Republic’s side to take control of the ship. Jaesa just tries not to look as they head to the massive, thirty-feet high viewport that dominates the bridge. A few soldiers remain on the bridge, all of them looking beat up and one wearing a Moff’s rank badge.

The group of soldiers leap to their feet as her master approaches them. None of them salute, however. Jaesa’s used to imps saluting her master, marking this small difference as rather unusual.

“Moff Masken, I presume,” Gimrizh says, addressing the leader of the group, “Darth Baras sent me. I’ve liberated your ship. Where is Admiral Monk?”

The Moff gets to his feet, clutching a bleeding shoulder and trying to look like it’s not affecting him, “Well well,” he says viciously. There’s a rippling undercurrent of anger and fear in the man, and Jaesa gets the distinct sense that he’s just been betrayed. “Come to inspect the scene of the crime? Admiral Monk and his top men already jettisoned down to Quesh. I’m _so_ sorry you missed him. Are you here to deliver his reward? Offer congratulations?”

For a brief moment she senses confusion from her master before Gimrizh shuts down the emotion, “Explain. Now,” she demands.

“This was a _secret_ attack,” the Moff informs her, drawing himself up to tower over her, “yet I come out of hyperdrive to find the Republic’s most decorated admiral lying in wait. Admiral Monk had my force field and docking codes - I’m not fool enough to fail to recognize a set up when I see it.”

Had this entire thing been a set up? Jaesa must admit that a part of her revels in the idea of the Republic having a spy in the Empire to allow for a victory like this, but her senses don’t lend weight to that theory. She knows that her master’s master, Baras, has a great many spies, and that this has likely been orchestrated by him. For what purpose, though? Her master doesn’t know either, if the uncertainty coming from her is any indication.

“What are you implying?” Gimrizh presses, taking a step closer to the Moff.

He scoffs, “You know full well what I’m getting at. Your master’s master is Darth Vengean. Baras manipulated him into this attack in order to ruin him. I’ve had it with Sith infighting always undermining Imperial operations. It’s why we have yet to crush the Republic outright.”

Her master goes still - still and _cold_ , “I see. And who else have you told your suspicions to, besides your men?”

“No one yet! But the entire Empire will know before long!” the Moff declares, fury running hot through him, like a live wire igniting his blood.

“If you stand down now, I’m certain we can work this out,” Gimrizh’s hands rest calmly near her lightsabers. Catching her master’s intentions is easy, it’s a strong beat of _cannot let them go Baras can’t know can’t know I know_ \-  

The Moff reaches for his blaster, “You and your master will answer for this!”

Every Imperial soldier opens fire on them.

Jaesa snaps her saberstaff to life at the same time as her master, spinning the hilt around in her fingers to deflect the bolts. She slides into her place as the defender while her master dashes forward in a reckless assault. There are so few soldiers on the bridge, this won’t take too long, not while her master is this - this _panicked_.

Almost without noticing, she reaches out with the force to knock a soldier off his feet before advancing with her saberstaff to slice his blaster out of his hands. A second later, her master is kneeling with both blades in the soldier’s torso and Jaesa’s guarding her back again.

Gimrizh cuts down the last man and rips the Moff’s blaster away.

She advances on the Moff, Jaesa deactivating her saber behind her. This fight is over, she doesn’t even need her ability to know that.

“Know that I don’t go out of my way to kill Imperials,” her master says coldly as she places her blades across the Moff’s neck, “This is just self-preservation. I cannot allow my master to know that I have dirt on him.”

The Moff sputters, “You- you didn’t know?”

“I know now,” Gimrizh reminds him, “That’s all Baras will care about.”

Her blades flash and Jaesa looks away. There’s a quick sequence of thuds as the Moff’s head hits the ground and then his body follows.

“Master,” Jaesa asks, as soon as they take a step back from the carnage, “Why can’t Darth Baras know that we are aware of this plot?”

Her master’s hands are shaking as she clips her lightsabers back onto her belt and underneath the steady flow of the dark side pumping through her body, Jaesa can sense the harsh bite of complete terror, “Because he didn’t tell me,” she says, not looking at Jaesa as she speaks, “If he wanted me to know, he would have told me. Therefore, I _cannot_ know the truth.”

“But we _do_ know,” Jaesa murmurs to herself.

“So we pretend we don’t,” Gimrizh tells her firmly, no room for argument, “We do what we always do - what you must always do. Pretend.”

Her master makes her way out of the bridge, heading back the way they came, towards where they docked _Horizon_. Of course they’ll pretend. That’s all Jaesa’s been doing lately. Pretending that what she does isn’t bothering her, pretending to be Sith everytime she steps off the ship, pretending that she actually follows the will of the dark side. “You know I appreciate all you do for me, master,” she says as they leave.

Gimrizh gives her a tiny smile, “Thank you.”

They rendezvous with the rest of _Horizon_ ’s crew and the Imperial soldiers as soon as they make it back to the hangar bay. There are no more Republic troopers in sight, just a lot of corpses and a few smoking fighter ships that have been shot to ruin. Vette’s nursing a slight blaster burn on her forearm, but apart from that there’s no damage.

“The Moff was killed before I could arrive,” Gimrizh lies to them. She picks out the highest ranking soldier that she can see and points at him, “Steer this ship back to Dromund Kaas and make sure that Darth Vengean is informed.”

They salute and go to fill out her orders and then it’s just them and the crew left.

“Did you encounter Admiral Monk, my lord?” Captain Quinn asks. There’s a thin stream of worry towards her master that Jaesa can sense coming from the captain. It’s a common presence in the emotional current that she gets from the rest of the crew, so she doesn’t pay it much mind.

Gimrizh shakes her head, “He escaped to Quesh before I could find him. There’s no time to waste, we have to go down to the planet and kill him before he can disappear again.”

Jaesa pauses on her way back to the ship as a thought occurs to her. If this attack was planned by Darth Baras, does that mean Admiral Monk is in on it? Could a member of the Republic’s most venerated War Trust be a _spy_?

~*~

“Anything?” Gimrizh asks, rubbing the spot on her arm where she’d been given the inoculation for Quesh’s atmosphere. She glances over at Quinn’s datapad nervously, as if somehow all answers will be revealed on the screen.

This planet disgusts her. The air is filled with filth, the ground has been destroyed and turned into toxic marshlands, and she can’t get the taste of adrenals in the smoke out of her mouth. The only thing of beauty on this world is the sky. It’s a burnt orange, like a firestorm as far as the eye can see. The fact that it’s caused by the toxins in the air spoils the effect somewhat. And inside the Imperial Garrison bunker, she can’t even see the sky. Stars, what a miserable place. Part of her wishes that they can just let the Republic take control of Quesh and be done with it.

Quinn keeps working on the algorithm to track the chemical’s from Monk’s escape pod, “I believe I’ve almost pinpointed a location, my lord,” he informs her, “I apologize for the delay.”

Her captain is _brilliant_. Completely, dazzlingly clever. She’d been utterly clueless about how they could possibly hunt down Monk. Quesh is a small planet, but it’s still filled with Republic bases and Hutt gangsters and massive adrenal refineries. Once they’d touched down and been vaccinated, her best idea had been a half-backed plan to commandeer the Imperial forces on the planet, and use their patrol logs to try and see where the admiral touched down. It’d been a stupid idea that’d been likely to waste all their time. Pierce had asked to run a surveillance mission, which had been miles better than her thoughts. Jaesa had been thinking of trying to meditate on the Admiral’s location and do a planet wide sweep using her abilities, another good idea, but also likely to take more time than they had.

No, Quinn’s idea is positively _perfect_. Quesh is covered in air sensors, to monitor the levels of toxic chemicals that the refineries give off. All of which the Imperial base on the planet has full access to. And while they don’t give a damn about the planet’s air levels, Monk’s escape pod would leave a trail that the sensors could pick up. Space dust, ship radiation, chemicals that aren’t found in the usual mix of poison that is Quesh’s atmosphere.

Quinn’s accessing the sensor feeds and creating a map of the escape pod’s trajectory as it’s debris enters the sensor’s range. Sometimes she’s just blown away by what Quinn is capable of. Sure, she can swing a lightsaber, but she can’t strategize like he can, or pilot a ship, or come up with anything like this.

“I’m amazed you can do this at all,” she says honestly, leaning over his shoulder to watch the constantly updating map, a series of overlapping data fields that shrink towards a common central location.

He tries to avoid the compliment, “I’m only doing my job, my lord.”

There’s a ping from the computer systems, and a bright red dot marking Quesh’s landscape appears on the map. It’s not far from the Imperial Garrison, maybe a few hours by speeder, but not much longer than that.

“Is that it?” she asks, her hands tightening at her sides, a mix of dread and anticipation at the thought of confronting the second to last member of the War Trust.

Quinn nods and downloads the program onto a portable datapad, which he hands to her, “I believe so, my lord. The chances of Admiral Monk being at that location are over 90 percent. That is however, Republic Fort Phalanx. I doubt it will be unguarded, or easily broken into.”

“I’ll be alright,” she reassures him, “I’ll take Jaesa with me.”

Even if she and Jaesa didn’t work well in combat, it’s the only choice available to her. She’s been caught up in a scheme of Baras’ and the less her crew knows, the better. It’s regrettable that Jaesa’s already mixed up in it. She refuses to risk turning Baras’ anger on the rest of her crew. Besides, she knows that Jaesa can keep a secret.

As she stands up, the partially healed injury on her side twinges painfully, and she isn’t quite able to keep the wince off her face. Her first hope is that Quinn doesn’t notice, so of course, he does.

“My lord,” Quinn points at the chair she just vacated, “forgive my directness, but you are not going into a Republic base if your injury has reopened. Please allow me to make sure you’re alright before you leave.”

She gives in with very little protest - her side _does_ hurt. At his direction, she slides down into her chair. “Fine,” she allows, tugging her shirt up and pulling off the bandages that wrap her side. One of the deeper cuts from the shrapnel has ripped open again and is soaking the previously clean bandage. “Give me a painkiller or something. I can’t waste too much time.”

Quinn pulls out his emergency medkit and hands her a couple small pills, “That’s a generalized pain relief. Ideally, I’d give you something stronger, but I don’t want to risk hindering your fighting abilities.”

“Sounds good,” she replies, swallowing the pills dry. “Just promise you won’t put me in a kolto tank once we finish this.”

He preps a syringe with kolto and sterilizes her skin before administering the injection, “Making that promise might interfere with my ability to do my job as ship medic, and might also compromise your health. I _will_ however, try other alternatives before resorting to a tank, my lord.”

“You worry too much,” she tells him, “I’ve managed to not die during my twenty-one years of existence without you keeping my sorry ass alive. I’m pretty sure I can manage.”

“Well,” he comments, handing her a pack of bandages for her now much less pained side, “if the lieutenant didn’t insist on fighting you while being well aware of your injuries, then I would have much less reason for concern.”

She rolls her eyes, “Please, it was nothing. And _don’t_ get mad at Pierce. He asked, I said yes, problem solved.”

“Of course, my lord,” Quinn agrees, although she can tell he doesn’t really mean it. She hopes that he and Pierce will sort out whatever animosity they apparently have, and sort it out quickly. Having two members of her crew constantly at each other's throats is not her idea of a good time. He tugs the last bandage into place and moves back, “That should last you until you’ve taken care of Admiral Monk. Please let me know immediately if you experience any more pain, or if you get injured on your mission.”

She drops her shirt and stands up, actually managing the action without it hurting this time, “Thank you. I’ll be heading out right away. Can’t let Monk escape, after all.”

“Then I wish you the best of luck,” he says, bowing politely to her as she grabs her lightsaber belt and heads out.

She can’t resist glancing back at him just before she leaves, “Make sure the rest don’t wander. This planet is a disaster.”

“Of course, my lord,” he says, one last exchange before she steps out of the office they’ve commandeered.

Once she’s outside the bunker, she opens the training bond she shares with Jaesa and tugs on it, the mental equivalent of a knock. There’s a reply a second later and she starts to make her way to the defended gate of the Imperial Garrison, knowing that Jaesa is there waiting for her now. As soon as she’s received her answer, she shuts the bond tightly closed. It’s not that she doesn’t trust Jaesa, because she _does_. There’s just something about sharing her emotions and inner thoughts with anyone that makes her panic. Like if someone gets to close they’ll realize there’s something wrong with her.

For some reason, she’s alright sharing things with Quinn. She’s not sure why, but to date he’s the only person she’s ever told about Yaina. It should worry her, that maybe she’s trusting him too much or that she’s being an idiot. But it doesn’t.

Jaesa greets her at the gates, “Master, I am ready,” she gestures to the speeder that hovers by her side, “I took the liberty of procuring transportation.”

“Good thinking,” Gimrizh comments, “Let’s go.”

~*~

“I think it’s a Sith,” one of Admiral Monk’s men says, glancing down at the security terminal, “Two Sith, maybe. They’re cutting through our men. Maybe two minutes till contact.”

Monk presses his hand against his closed eyes and groans, “Great. Of course, Baras just _has_ to make this look like a real attack. Try and evacuate the men we have left, but _don’t_ give a stand down order. That could be recorded.”

“Yes, sir,” his men say. Monk can count the number of men he has left on one hand and they’re all right next to him in this room. Everyone else is between them and the Sith, and is therefore no longer alive, in practice if not in actuality. Keeping the men who are also loyal to the Empire closest to him has been a strategy that’s paid for itself ten times over in the past.

He opens the blaster cabinet and tosses arms to his men - if they need to make this look legit, then he’d best be prepared. The largest particle gun, a heavy rifle design, is his. He’s used this a thousand times over the years, and it’s served him well. The rest of the War Trust wanted to arm all six of them with Siantide cell powered weapons, and he’d turned them down. It looks as though it worked out in his favor. Now that Project Siantide is a dead end with no more funding and the four generals who lauded the dream of Siantide weapons are all dead.

That thought gives him pause, a brief moment of hesitation. Four out of six members of the War Trust are dead. He and Jedi Knight Xerender are all that remain. Now that he thinks of it, didn’t he receive news recently that General Karastace Gonn had also been killed? Murdered on Nar Shaddaa, if he remembers correctly.

Is this all part of some plan Darth Baras has concocted? The Sith’s a slimy, manipulative fucker, even though Monk respects him for it. He wouldn’t put it past Baras to come up with something like this. Maybe it’s time for Monk to openly join the Empire, after years of working from the shadows.

“Sir! The Sith’s-”

There’s a roar of durasteel and the doors literally crumple.

Two women step through the wrecked hole they’ve just created, one a Zabrak and the other a human. The Zabrak takes the lead and scans the room, searching, before her yellow eyes land on him. “Admiral Monk, I assume.”

“You work for Baras, don’t you?” he says, irritated by this - this _brute_ having cut through his forces and for what? To deliver a message? “Is he trying to make it look good, give himself an alibi? If so, you can tell him ‘mission accomplished’. Almost all my men are dead. You’ve done a great job making this look legit. Now back off!”

The Zabrak glances at her companion for the briefest of moments. “So,” she says slowly, carefully, “you’re one of Baras’ spies.”

Why does she say it like she doesn’t know? “Yes, of course, idiot,” he retorts, “These are my senior officers. We all defected over a decade ago and have been working for Baras since. Didn’t you know this? He didn’t tell you we were following his command?”

“I find not asking questions is the best way to ensure my own survival,” she tells him. “Clearly you’re not very invested in that ideal yourself.”

Some creatures need to learn some kriffing respect, “Just give us your message and be done with it. I can clean up your _mess_ by myself.”

“The message?” she says, staring into his eyes, “It reads as follows.”

A bright red beam of light ignites in her hand.

Monk takes a step back, grateful he’s already armed himself, “This is foolish. We’ve been loyal to him, our covers are intact. Why would he destroy something so valuable?”

“I’ve killed a number of Baras’ spies before,” she comments, “This is the eventual fate of _every_ spy, Admiral. You’re not the exception.”

He hefts up his rifle, nudging the end of the gun into his shoulder and letting his finger slide over the trigger, “He can’t think that we’re going to take this lying down. Men!” he cries out to the rest of his officers, who are already gathering their weapons and share a look of grim determination, “Our master has decided we’re expendable! Let’s prove otherwise!”

Both Sith leap into action.

He starts firing at the Zabrak, unloading everything his weapon’s got, trying to stop her in her tracks. They’re good, these Sith. He has to admit that. The human is a whirling shield, sending bolts flying and only stopping to sink her lightsaber into one of his men. And the Zabrak… She doesn’t seem to give a damn about the sheer amount of firepower that he’s sending her way, she just keeps on coming.

Two blades are in her hands now, one flicks a bolt out of her way and the other cuts his sergeant down in front of him. He tries to shoot her to bits but-

There’s a flash of searing pain and suddenly he doesn’t have a right hand anymore.

_She cut my hand off_.

Her blades are crossed at his neck, a look in her eye that doesn’t reveal anger or fear or even desire. Just a fact. She _will_ kill him, not because she wants it or because she’s bloodthirsty. Just business. Just orders. He can understand that.

“I pity you,” he bites out, likely his last words, “his blind, obedient lap dog. No one’s safe with Baras. Not even you.”

Her eyes don’t waver, “I know.”

Monk takes one last breath, tries to reach for his blaster with his left hand, hoping to get one last shot in, and -

~*~

“To another victory!” Pierce toasts.

Vette raises her glass in the air, a bit of beer sloshing over the edge in her enthusiasm, “Here here!”

The five of them are sitting in a cantina on the Quesh orbital station, having finally gotten fed up of the constant medication that allows breathing to be an actual thing on that damn planet. They occupy a small corner table, away enough from the band that the music doesn't drown out everything they’re saying. Gimrizh looks exhausted, Quinn awkward, and Jaesa slightly nervous. Vette’s not sure about what though. She and Pierce are the real life of the party, in her expert opinion.

It’s a nice cantina too, she thinks. Not bad for a space-bound place. Decent scotch, and she’s taken a sip of some mixed drink that Jaesa ordered and that wasn’t half bad either. Vette has two criteria by which she judges a cantina. The first, obviously, is the quality of the booze. The second is the bartender. This one passes the test, if only because he doesn’t get annoyed when she and Pierce start doing shots.

The evening goes as well as she can expect. She manages to get Jaesa to try a bunch of different drinks, with mixed success. Pierce totally out drinks her - fuck him. Once things start winding down and it gets to be the early morning, Gimrizh and Quinn start playing a game of sabacc and then the rest of them end up joining.

She’s pretty sure that Jaesa’s cheating _somehow_ , because the stack of credits at her elbow keeps getting bigger - even though Quinn isn’t betting money, Gimrizh can do the same force tricks she can, and Pierce has won _exactly_ the same amount that he’s lost. It’s just Vette and her slowly decreasing pile of cash. Sure, she’s kind of annoyed by the whole losing aspect of it, but she’s also so proud because precious sweetheart Jaesa could scam the hell out of so many spacers that it brings a tear to her eye just thinking about it.

So all in all, it’s going pretty well when her holo starts beeping.

Vette makes an excuse and ducks out of the cantina, finding a quiet spot near a series of ventilation shafts. She takes the call.

The tiny glowing figure of Oren appears, a smarmy looking Cathar who grins at her when the call connects, “Hey there, Blue,” he says teasingly.

“Did you find anything?” Vette asks as quickly as she can get the words out of her mouth.

“Sure did,” he tells her, “My dear Mako’s been in a sisterly sort of mood lately so she checked the net for you. I do have to say though, in case you feel like hiring me at a later date, that I _normally_ charge a lot more for a people finding service like this, and -”

Vette wishes she could slap him, “Just tell me where she is,” she demands.

“Alright, alright. Hold your nexus,” Oren says, “Found a Twi’lek named ‘Tivva’ on Nar Shaddaa. Right age, and the history on her profile matches what you gave us. She’s still collared though. Owned by a Twi’lek named Crystal, who’s owned by the Hutts. Don’t want to get your hopes up, alright? I’ve just delivered a location, I can’t free her for you. Wish I could, but I’ve bigger game to bag.”

She’s _found_ her _sister_. Whatever else stands between them, a collar, an owner, it won’t stand for much longer. Vette’s not going to let Tivva rot away in slavery. She’s let her sister down for over a decade, she won’t let her be enslaved a day longer. “Thank you,” she says sincerely, “Really. Thank you.”

He shrugs, “Eh, you did pay me for it.”

“Yeah, you’ll get your credits,” she promises. She owes Oren a huge credit bill with way too many zeros for something reasonable. But this is _family_. It’s worth more money than anything else she’s ever stolen. She can spend her lifetime robbing Twi’lek artifacts but she’d give up every single piece of her cultural heritage in a second to buy her sister’s freedom. “Send me the details and I’ll send you the cash.”

He does a casual two-fingered salute, “Pleasure doing buisness with you. Feel free to hire me again.”

“Will do,” she says as the call drops off.

She clutches her holo to her chest and let it sink in. She has her _sister’s location_ in her hands. Stars, what does Tivva look like now? She hasn’t seen her sister in years, will they even recognize each other? Has she walked right past her sister on one of her trips to Nar Shaddaa? Just walked past her without a second thought because it’s been _so many_ years and she doesn’t expect Tivva to remember what she looks like?

Footsteps echo through the spacedock’s corridor.

“Vette?” Jaesa asks, nervously approaching her, “Are you alright? I sensed your emotional turmoil in the force.”

“I’m fine,” Vette reassures her, the thought of seeing her _sister_ bubbling up through her chest and out across her lips in a ridiculous giggle, “I’m more than fine - I’ve found my sister.”

Jaesa beams at her, that absurdly beatific smile of hers, “That’s wonderful! I’m so happy for you! Where is she?”

“Nar Shaddaa,” she replies, already making her way back towards the cantina, “I’ve got to tell the boss - we’ve got to go now - before I lose her again. Do you think the boss will be okay with it? She already said she’d help, but do you think she meant it? Do you think that we can leave right away? We’ve got to tell that Sithy asshole about stuff here first, but she can do that in hyperspace and we can already be halfway to Nar Shaddaa before Baras sends us somewhere else-”

Jaesa’s hand seeks hers out and squeezes comfortingly, “Don’t worry. It’ll all work out. The force is with us.”

“Stars,” Vette mutters, “I wish I had your conviction.”

They step back into the cantina, the quiet of the space station abruptly abandoning them to the noise of the band, the chatter of the people, the sounds of cups and glasses being banged against things. The rest of the crew is right where they left them, and they walk in right as Gimrizh tosses down the worst sabacc hand of the night with a curse.

Vette just places her holo on the table and stares at Gimrizh, “I found her - Tivva, I _found her_.”

Slowly, Gimrizh looks up from her cards and straight into Vette’s eyes, “Where?”

“Nar Shaddaa,” Vette tells her, hoping that the next thing she says isn’t a denial, isn’t ‘well that’s too far away’, isn’t a rejection.

Gimrizh nods, turns to Quinn and says, “Then we’re setting a course for Nar Shaddaa as soon as possible.”

The captain frowns, “What about your report to Darth Baras, my lord?”

“I can do that in hyperspace,” Gimrizh brushes off, “This is important.”

Thank the stars - the force - the old goddess that Vette’s mother used to say watches over every child of Ryloth. They’re going to save Tivva.

~*~

“Apprentice,” Baras drawls, drinking in the sight of her on her knees, having followed every iota of his plan _perfectly_ and having known _nothing_ of what he’s truly planning, “My master is distraught. His covert attack has failed, and now the Dark Council is highly critical of his current value. And apparently, Moff Masken did not survive Admiral Monk’s ambush? What happened?”

If the Moff figured it out - if he made mention of it to her -

His apprentice’s face remains the block of dumb stone it always is, “He was dead when I arrived on the bridge.”

Good. “If he was incompetent enough to die at the hands of the Republic, then his death is no great loss. No matter. What’s important is that you accomplished your objective - the elimination of Admiral Monk. It is a major blow to the Republic. I imagine that he did not go quietly,” he probes, “The Admiral would have been aware of the death of his fellows.”

“I don’t make a habit of chatting with dead men,” she says flatly.

Behind his mask, where she cannot see, he smirks at her. What a fool she is. It’s perfect for him of course. Better to have a stupid and unknowing tool than one that thinks for itself and tries to bite the hand that feeds it. “Then you have one target left. Jedi Knight Xerender. My spies tell me that he is currently on Coruscant, readying a ship for the outer rim. As soon as he leaves and I know his destination, I shall inform you. One last target, and then war shall come to the Republic.”

“As you wish, master,” she concedes.

“Expect my transmission in twenty-four hours,” he tells her, checking the latest report from the spy he has handling Xerender, “Baras out.”

Baras closes the call and tosses the holo across his desk. The thin metal disk skids to a stop next to the jar containing Tremel’s severed hand. The first trophy his apprentice presented to him. Oh yes, he got a very good deal back on Korriban.

She was his the moment he manipulated her into killing her overseer.

~*~

Malavai’s never given much thought to what family Vette might have out there. It’s not exactly on his list of priorities. While he does care about the Lord Gimrizh and her history, he’s never extended the same concerns towards the rest of the crew. To be frank, he’s never needed to. He already knows where Jaesa’s family is, having hunted down her parents personally. Concern and Pierce are two words that he never puts in the same sentence, and until now Vette’s kept to herself about her past life. He’s also not spying on anyone else in the crew, either.

It takes a few days to arrive on Nar Shaddaa, and the whole time Vette is practically bouncing off the walls. He’s honestly relieved when she and the Lord Gimrizh go planetside to find her sister because then at least she’s off the ship.

The lieutenant is negotiating with the port authorities to refuel _Horizon_ , and Jaesa is off running errands and restocking the ship, and so Malavai ends up being the only one on board when Vette and Gimrizh return. It’s probably not how he would have chosen to do this.

They return with a Twi’lek woman.

She’s taller and wider than both Gimrizh and Vette, the same pale blue as her sister. Her face is smeared with cosmetics that go on to cover every inch of skin he can see, which is rather a lot, actually. All she’s wearing is some skimpy metal outfit underneath a heavy cloak of Gimrizh’s that leaves no doubt in his mind as to exactly where she had been working before. On the back of her neck is a thick metal collar, just like the one Vette had been wearing when he had first met her on Balmorra.

Vette stears her sister into the med bay where Malavai’s working, Gimrizh following at their heels and lingering in the doorway.

“How long since you’ve changed this?” Vette asks, starting to examine the collar on her sister’s neck.

The woman - Tivva, he believes - laughs, “They changed yours?”

Vette swears under her breath. She begins to undo the locking mechanism on the collar, entering a passcode into the lock. While her hands are busy, she glances up at Quinn, and orders, “I’m going to need an all purposes antibiotic. Kotlo too. Whatever you’ve got in there that’s pretty damn strong.”

He’s actually a bit taken aback by _her_ giving _him_ orders. He’s used to her abrasiveness, but this is a bit beyond that. He glances over at the Lord Gimrizh and to his surprise she nods at him. Clearly, she doesn’t understand what’s going on either, she looks just as confused as he does. Yet she’s allowing Vette’s instructions anyway. Well. If she’s going to trust that Vette knows what she’s doing, he supposes he might as well. Besides, it isn’t as though they are running low on medical supplies, not when Jaesa’s restocking today regardless.

He grabs the strongest antibiotic he has - usually used for the sort of field surgery that would result in someone’s internal organs being exposed to disease. The antibiotic gets prepped in a syringe along with some undiluted kolto.

When he turns back to Vette and her sister, he understands what they’ll be used for. The thick electroshock collar is slowly removed, revealing two thin holes in the back of Tivva’s neck. That must be where the collar is inserted, he thinks. Direct contact with the muscular system allows the device to incapacitate the entire body with a single shock. He’s read about it, of course, but he’s never seen it in person.

The skin underneath the collar is paler than the rest of her body with the exception of being bright red and inflamed around the two marks. It’s covered in a layer of pus and blood that’s steadily leaking from the obviously infected entry wounds. Did no one ever check to make sure that the infection wasn’t killing her? If he had to guess, he’d say that she’s never had the collar removed in her entire life. The one aspect that makes his stomach churn isn’t the oozing infected flesh, he’s seen worse in his years serving as a medic, it’s the makeup. Someone’s smeared blue powder around the edge of where her skin meets the collar to hide the redness of the infection. It’s disgusting, obviously. More than that though, it’s just… inefficient. Cruelty for cruelty's sake rather than for any legitimate purpose.

Vette places the collar down on the bench, right where her sister calmly places her hand on the metal. “Well that’s pretty,” she comments, looking - unbelievably - like she’s seen worse.

Malavai shakes himself out of whatever _this_ is. He has a job to do. He quickly cleans the injection site before administering the antibiotic. Hopefully that should take care of the infection. “I’d like to run a blood panel,” he informs them, “a complete scan would reveal any toxins in your system and allow me to properly remove the infection.”

“Sure,” Tivva says, as though she doesn’t know why he’s asking, “whatever you need, doc.”

She doesn’t know better, he tells himself. He draws a blood sample and sets it aside for later. Then he returns to addressing the ruin that’s on the back of her neck. First he has to clean and sterilize the area, making sure that the two puncture wounds aren’t clogged. They must be an inch deep. Perhaps going down into the spinal cord. Then kolto, a series of injections that should knit the tissue together.

He can’t do much more than that right now, so he applies a kolto patch to the external wound after everything else is done.

At some point, Vette had ran out of the medbay. She returns with a bundle of clothes in her arms and hands then to her sister, “Here. You’re a bit taller than me, but I think it’ll work.”

Tivva sighs in relief. “You have no idea how much I hate this stupid outfit.” She stands up, drops the cloak and starts shedding the outfit beneath. Apparently, she’s either oblivious to his presence, or just doesn’t care. Either way, Malavai hastily turns his back and busies himself with setting up a scan of her blood sample.

“Want to incinerate this?” Vette asks, likely referring to the ridiculous outfit her sister had been forced to wear. “I’d love to go find an incinerator.”

“Trash compactor,” Tivva replies bitterly, “I want it crushed.”

Vette laughs, “Can do. Hey captain tightwad, you can turn around now, she’s decent.”

One day, he is going to have a _talk_ with Vette about her insistence on immature nicknaming. He checks the blood panel results and finds that apart from the visible infection, Tivva is relatively healthy. She tests positive for a number of common diseases, likely the result of past exposure or vaccination. He doesn’t want to rule out the latter on principle, but if the infection around her collar went for so long untreated, he doubts that there’s anyone who would bother to provide medical care for her. “Have you ever received any vaccinations?” he asks anyways, deciding not to chance it.

She gives him a look as though he’s a complete idiot. The same expression is mirrored on Vette’s face. “No,” she tells him, “of course not.”

That’s about what he expected, although he could have done with a bit more politeness from the woman. “I cannot provide any vaccinations for you here,” he says, the ship’s simply not stocked for that sort of thing, “I recommend that you see a doctor as soon as it’s feasible to make certain that you receive any necessary inoculations. Apart from that, you should be in good health once your neck injury heals.”

Tivva rubs the patch on the back of her neck, “Thank you. I, er… I don’t have any money to pay you for this, but I can offer services if you want?”

It takes him a moment to understand what exactly she’s offering. “That’s really not necessary,” he quickly replies, “I am a commissioned medical officer, this is just my job.”

“You’re free now, remember?” Vette jumps in, “You don’t owe anyone jack shit for anything. And if they say you do, you can punch them. I’ll be honest, the free reign on punching is one of the best parts. Of course, they can always punch you back, but they can’t shock you.”

“There are a couple of people I’d _love_ to punch,” Tivva says thoughtfully, a vicious undercurrent to her words, “Are Hutts on the table?”

Vette shrugs, “Kinda? I mean, you _could_ , but that would probably be a bad idea.”

The Lord Gimrizh moves from the door and puts her hand on Vette’s shoulder, “I think you should probably get Tivva settled. We might have to move out soon, Baras said he’d contact me in,” she checks the medbay chrono, “an hour or so.”

“Yeah sure, your Sithyness,” Vette agrees, carefully escorting her sister out of the medbay, prattling on about clothing as she goes.

Gimrizh wraps her arms around herself and leans against the kolto tank, “Thank you for helping,” she says quietly, once it’s just the two of them and the two Twi'lek’s footsteps have faded substantially. “I didn’t know what to do for her. I’ve… never had much experience with slavery, not outside of Vette.”

“Me neither, my lord,” he admits. “May I ask, Vette’s sister, is she remaining on board _Horizon_?”

“No,” Gimrizh says with a shake of her head, “Vette has friends on Nar Shaddaa that she can put Tivva up with until she finds her feet. We can’t take on any stragglers. I almost wish we could, I don’t want to keep Vette from her sister, but having civilians on board is a terrible idea. Tivva has probably never held a blaster in her life.”

That’s likely an accurate assessment. Slaves are almost exclusively not allowed to carry weapons - Vette had been the exception that proved the rule. Malavai stops that train of thought as he catches sight of what Gimrizh is doing. Her nails are digging into her forearms and she keeps dragging her thumb over the fabric. One of her teeth is biting at her lower lip. “My lord, is there something wrong?” he asks, already knowing the answer.

“Baras is about to call,” she says. It’s a fact that she gives, not a speculation, and so he finds himself writing that knowledge off as something that the force provides her with, “It’s big news, I think. I can’t tell if it’s good or bad.”

Malavai takes her word as truth, “How long until Lord Baras makes contact?”

She heads out of the medbay into the main room, “Very, very shortly.” He stands just outside of the holo imager as she powers up the communications array. “It must be urgent,” she says as she connects the call. Whether she’s talking to him or to herself, he can’t tell. “Something must not be going according to his plans.”

The call from Baras comes through almost as soon as she gets the holo up and running.

“Master,” she greets him, bowing as he appears on the screen.

Baras doesn’t waste any time in getting to business. Lord Gimrizh is correct, something’s not going to plan. “Apprentice. Jedi Knight Xerender is departing Coruscant as we speak. My spies inform me that he is headed to Hoth, to reclaim a powerful weapon from the first war. This cannot be allowed.”

“If you wish for me to salvage the weapon-” Gimrizh tries.

“No,” he cuts her off, “I don’t care about the weapon, I want Xerender dead. You are closer to Hoth than he is and your ship is faster. If you leave now, you should be able to intercept him before he reaches the planet’s surface. Better for the Empire to lose a weapon we never had to begin with that the Republic cannot find regardless than for us to let this unique opportunity slip through our fingers.”

She lowers her head and allows the chance of taking a weapon of the Republic to fall away. It’s a decision that Malavai’s not sure he would have made that easily. “As you say, master.”

“Xerender commands a Republic cruiser named _Unbowed_ ,” Baras informs her, “Blow him out of Hoth’s sky and let that ship become one more wreckage to litter the surface of that planet. If he tries to hide behind shields, use a missile to discourage him. If he attempts to jettison an escape pod, shoot it down. Whatever he has planned must never come to fruition, am I understood, apprentice?”

“Yes, master,” she replies immediately, “I shall depart for Hoth as soon as possible.”

“Do _not_ fail me in this,” Baras says in a final warning before the call cuts out and he vanishes.

Gimrizh wraps her shaking hands around the edges of the holo terminal, her knuckles going white from lack of circulation, “Alright,” she says slowly, “Quinn, please call Pierce and Jaesa and inform them of our change in plans. I’ll find Vette. Get everyone back on the ship as fast as they can. Baras is right - we can’t let this chance pass us by.”

No. They can’t. “Right away, my lord.”

~*~

“That’s my holo,” Vette says, handing Tivva another scrap of flimsy, “I pretty much always have that on me, but if not, call the second number. That’s the ship’s holo. Can’t promise it’ll be me that answers it, but if there’s an emergency and my holo isn’t working, someone can pass a message to me that way.”

Tivva nods and tucks the flimsy into her pocket, “I’ve got it.”

Vette wishes that she could do more, be there for her sister in the way that Risha was there for her, “Darun will put you up till my gang returns, okay? You’ll be safe with him, he owes me like, a million favors. Once the gang gets back, they can find a place for you, get you set up in a nice apartment somewhere or something. Get you off Nar Shaddaa if you want too, they’re always jetting about the galaxy.”

“This gang,” Tivva asks slowly, rolling the word around on her tongue, “what are they like?”

“They’re all Twi’leks,” Vette assures her, “Treasure hunters, mainly. I used to work with them. We took back what the galaxy stole from us.”

There’s never been that love of treasure and gold in her sister that lives in Vette’s heart. Tivva doesn’t share that joy that only a really well pulled off heist can bring, or the pride Vette feels when she handles a lost artifact. But Tivva, like all Twi’leks, understands the importance of what they’ve done. Her eyes widen ever so slightly, “Our history?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Vette confirms, proud and happy all at once, “I found the fifty jewels of Queen Iyara once.”

Tivva gasps, unable to stop the grin on her face from spreading, “Those are a thousand years old!”

“And now they’re in the hands of a private collector, one of us who’s keeping things safe till he can go back to Ryloth and open a museum that won’t get robbed by slavers,” Vette informs her. “ _That’s_ what my gang does.”

“Alright,” Tivva looks far more comfortable now with the idea of staying with Vette’s gang, “I’ll trust them, for now.”

Vette gives her sister one last look, just freed, wearing Vette’s slightly too small clothes, carrying a stack of credits and papers and favors that Vette’s accumulated over the years. “I wish I could do more,” she says at last.

“I’ve survive a decade without you,” Tivva says, and it’s just a fact, it shouldn't sting, but it _does_ , “I can manage.”

Her holo goes off again, and Vette knows that she’s delaying leaving. She gives her sister one last hug, “Good luck.”

“The storm will reunite us,” Tivva promises, an old _old_ Ryloth parting phrase that Vette had almost forgot about. Smugglers and pirates don’t say it, not unless they’re Twi’lek. Her gang only occasionally used the old sayings, only when it really mattered. It’s a dusty group of words in her mind but she takes them out again and remembers the reply.

“The winds will guide us home,” Vette finishes.

~*~

_Horizon_ beats _Unbowed_ to Hoth by a matter of minutes. Jaesa and Pierce are manning the two particle cannons below deck while Quinn and Vette are on the bridge. Gimrizh is at the helm, readying the ship’s missile systems for launch. They’re sitting at the edge of Hoth’s atmosphere, lying in wait.

“I have a lock on Xerender’s ship, my lord. He’s just pulled out of hyperspace,” Quinn informs her, “Should I move to engage?”

Gimrizh leans forward in the helmsman’s chair to see the Republic cruiser hurtling towards Hoth at a much faster speed than would be recommended. Her pulse races and her breath quickens at the sight. She’s not sure if she’s nervous of being thrown into battle that doesn't involve a lightsaber in her hand, or giddy with anticipation at bringing such a distinguished Jedi Knight to death’s door. “He’s trying to make it to Hoth’s surface before we can ambush him.”

“He _can’t_ know we’re here,” Vette insists, her voice hitching as she flips a series of switches to active the shields, “He just got out of hyperspace, you can’t track shit in hyperspace.”

“No,” Gimrizh agrees, “but he doesn’t need to. The force warned him.”

Vette looks like she wants to rip her lekku out, “You’re fucking _joking_.”

“Shoot him down, Quinn,” she orders, before speaking into the headsets that link her to Jaesa and Pierce, “Get ready, we’re about to attack.”

There’s a brief reply from the two before Quinn turns the sublight engines onto a hard burn and they’re shooting through space, _Unbowed_ growing larger and larger in the viewport until they’re right underneath the larger ship.

Pierce and Jaesa open fire, their shoots rippling against _Unbowed_ ’s shields, useless, but enough to shake the vessel around, even if they can’t penetrate the shielding. A bright flash of light shatters through the blackness from the enemy’s cannons. They’ve started shooting back, and there goes the measly advantage of surprise. Gimrizh’s hearts skip a beat as the lasers _just_ miss them, Quinn putting the ship through a barrel roll at the last minute, barely fast enough to dodge a blow to their own shields.

_Horizon_ skids underneath the enemy ship’s belly, almost close enough to touch at some moments. A few blasts rock their ship, but nothing stronger than a standard particle gun. They pull up on the other side of the cruiser, in time for another burst of cannon fire.

_Unbowed_ doesn’t stop it’s hell-bent course towards the planet’s surface. _Why_ , Gimrizh wonders. There’s no reason to drag this fight into atmo, not unless. Unless. The Republic must have reinforcements on Hoth, and Xerender’s hoping that if they get close enough to knock on the Republic’s door, a bunch of fighters will come to his defense. They can’t let that happen.

“Don’t let them make contact with whatever pubs are planetside!” she says quickly.

A blast sends their ship careening to the side. Vette yanks a lever back and turns her head just enough to yell back, “Shoot their asses then!”

What?

“My lord,” Quinn calls back to her, “we need a missile!”

“Right!” She slams her hand on the targeting system and engages the massive, remote targeted, missile launcher that’s built into _Horizon_ ’s hull like a fang into a nexu’s mouth.

The missile shoots straight towards _Unbowed_ , the ship dodges, and Gimrizh grins. She activates the heat seeking device and watches as the weapon carrens right back around to punch through _Unbowed_ ’s oh so fancy shields and straight into their right-side engine exhaust port. Chunks of debris hurdle past them, leaving a trail of smoke from the hole in the larger ship’s side. She’d like to see how they try and steer with only half a working engine.

Over the comms, Pierce lets out a loud cheer, “ _Good shot_!”

“Their shields have suffered damages,” Quinn informs them, leaving the comm channel open, “Concentrate fire on the starboard side.”

It’s not enough though, even as their cannons blast half the ship to hell and back. The smoking hunk of durasteel and engine and fuel is still holding course at breakneck speed towards the planet. Xerender’s probably come to the same conclusion that she has. His only chance is to try and make it to Republic reinforcements. If he stays up here, they’ll shoot him down, but if he crashes into the planet, at least he has a chance.

“Can we break atmo?” she asks, as they follow the ship, cannons blazing, for all the good it’s doing.

Quinn pulls _Horizon_ up and around till they’re trailing on the tails of _Unbowed_ ’s still-flying wreckage, “If we follow in their wake, we shouldn’t have too much difficulty entering the atmosphere at this speed.”

“Great,” she switches the commlink on, “We’re going to enter Hoth’s air.”

“ _Best hold on to something then_ ,” Pierce comments.

A scarce few meters before then, _Unbowed_ enters the atmosphere with a clap like thunder, breaking through with enough force to send the cruiser rattling and shaking, loose plating being ripped off its hull as it goes. There’s a few moments of smoke from the engines clouding their viewport and then the ruined cruiser’s engines burst into flame as enough oxygen lets the fuel ignite.

_Horizon_ ’s guns open fire as soon as they pull out from behind the ship, shattering through the holes in the cruiser’s shields. Gimrizh loads another missile and fires - _Unbowed_ ’s second and last engine explodes in a fiery blaze.

The cruiser collapses.

Its set course towards the Republic base fails and it plummets toward the planet’s surface, unable to resist the pull of gravity. Gimrizh leans forward in her seat, reaching out in the force, trying to sense the ship. She’s not good at this, and she’d usually ask Jaesa to play the role of sensor, but this isn’t a usual occasion. When Xerender breathes his last, she _has_ to know that he’s dead without a fraction of doubt.

She can feel a number of presences in the force go out. Dim lights, quickly snuffed by the flames and the the ripped open hull. There’s a brighter presence aboard though, controlled, honed, in a way that non-force sensitives just _aren’t_. That’s Xerender. She tries to get closer, stretch out with her mind just a little bit more.

“He’s escaping!” she realizes, snapping out of the almost painful connection, “Xerender’s trying to get into a pod!”

Quinn gives the order, “Lieutenant, Jaesa, Jedi Knight Xerender is about to deploy an escape pod. Target anything that leaves the ship.”

A small pod launches from the side of _Unbowed_ , hurtling toward the ground. It activates a seperate engine and starts to pull up. She can sense the bright light of Xerender inside the durasteel walls of the tiny vessel. He won't make it to the planet's surface, not alive anyways.

Their cannons fire upon the pod. It tries to dodge, Xerender is still a Jedi Knight and he manages to avoid far more bolts than a normal person would have. It doesn't matter in the end. The escape pod doesn't have a real steering system and it certainly doesn't have any shields. A burst of gunfire connects with the pod and rips a flaming hole in its side. A second blast sends the pieces flying into the cloud layer of Hoth.

A gasp escapes her lips as she feels Xerender die. "He's dead. Xerender has been eliminated."

"Great," Vette remarks, with no real joy at the man's death, "Let's get the hell away from this wreck before it lands in a snow bank."

Gimrizh considers the state of her ship, "Do we need to make repairs?"

"Undoubtedly, my lord," Quinn confirms. He pulls her ship as far away from the smoking husk of _Unbowed_ and then checks the terminal for a scan of the ship, "The damage is primarily cosmetic, but our shields need to be recharged and the port side exhaust vent has been hit. There's an Imperial Spacedock in orbit. I would recommend docking there while maintenance is performed."

"Then do it," she agrees.

_Horizon_ speeds away from the icy white skyline of Hoth and she watches as _Unbowed_ sinks past them, a smoldering wreckage that falls through the layer of storm clouds in pieces. The last few life forces on board the cruiser flicker out, no hope of survival now that Xerender is dead. Her eyes can't pull away until it plunges through the clouds and vanishes from her sight.

The spacedock is just a short distance above the atmosphere, a cold floating spacescraper that allows them to dock only after both Quinn and her provide identification enough to confirm that this is an Imperial-allowed ship.

Once they're safe within a number of bulkheads and pressurized hangar bays, they're at last provided with a repair crew from the port authorities that Pierce wastes no time in directing.

She waits an hour.

Gimrizh is just delaying the inevitable now. She congratulates Jaesa on her efforts during the battle, but then Jaesa and Vette are off looking for a cantina to celebrate in and that little exercise in stalling fails.

"My lord," Quinn asks, because apparently she's terrible at hiding her thoughts and he's too damn good at reading her, "is there a reason you're delaying your report to Lord Baras?"

She gives in and heads to the holo, "Sorry. I'm just... This is the start of the war. I -" her voice cuts off.

_I'm afraid._

Instead of voicing her thoughts she turns the holo on and calls Baras. Her stomach flops from a mixture of worry and anxiety and also - unbearable, inadmissible - _bloodlust_ that the war will promise her. She kneels before her master as the call goes through and he appears before her.

"I've done it master," she informs him, "Jedi Knight Xerender is dead."

The mask covering her master's face prevents her from seeing his unhindered enthusiasm, but she can hear it in his oily voice, "Then it appears congratulations are in order. Since we last spoke, it appears as though the Republic discovered my master's failed attack on the fringe systems. That technically constituted a breach of the Treaty of Coruscant."

"Then-" she tries to finish her words, not allowing Baras to see any of the fear or worry in her voice, "What is the Dark Council's decision?"

Baras must be grinning, all his plans are succeeding. Like an idiot, she's fallen blindly into every trap he's set for her, because she has no choice. Because it's obey or die a slow painful death. She hates him and she hopes that one day, someone stronger than her manages to kill him. Kill him before it's too late for her.

"With the recent decimation of the War Trust and the Republic's barely hidden takeover of Balmorra," her master begins, "the Dark Council has moved to break the treaty. I expect it is only a matter of hours before the Republic does the same."

She's succeeded. Failed and succeeded both.

"Well done, my apprentice," Baras gloats, "We are at war."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well look at how that didn't happen like in canon what does that mean? We're into the non-canon stuff folks!


	11. Interlude : Vette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Ce'na, a young Twilek slave, becomes Vette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote this awhile ago, and I promise that the next big chapter is still being written at usual speed. The next big chapter is going to have a bit of Vette-centric ness to it as well (and will be the first of the non-canon chapters)  
> As always, shout out to FallenAscendant!

Ce'na breathes in the dust of Raxus Prime. It's heavy, thick, choking. Full of debris from the scrap metal they're refining and the noxious gases that are a byproduct of the refinery process. It settles in her lungs and makes her cough and then when it comes back up at night it stains her teeth black as the smog in the sky. She has it light. Most of the older slaves aren’t as lucky - Twi'leks, they're all Twi'leks here, Three-eyes has some creepy fetish for her species. Slave lung, they call it, the disease that they all get eventually. The old men who are still alive and working here are the worst, and they drag their wrinkled bodies from place to place with rattling breaths that shake them from head to toe. The ones who are too far gone take on the worst tasks, keep the young ones from the heavy machines where one has to stand in plumes of smoke for hours.

Everyone here’s sick or injured or mad. Ce’na’s used to it. She’s been a slave her whole life, she’s been sold a half dozen times, she knows what’s going to happen to her. If she doesn’t end up pretty like her sister, she’s going to live and die doing hard labour. She’s only belonged to Three-eyes and his junk shops for a few months now and she’s still new enough that she doesn’t have slave lung yet. She’ll get it soon, and then when she’s next sold, her price will be cheaper to account for her being damaged.

Her days are blurry, monotonous things that revolve around times set and enforced by Three-eye’s gangsters who carry sticks to motivate them and blasters to punish them. And she should be used to it. She is, in a way. She works the clock and does what she’s told and keeps her head down when someone else gets shoved to their knees and shot in the head for disobedience. But she _hates_ doing it. She hates the weak, scared, timid little fragment of a person that she’s become. She doesn’t want to shut up and follow orders, she wants to break every damn rule she’s forced to live her life by and steal all Three-eyes’ food and spit in his face.

But she doesn’t. Because that would get her a bolt between the eyes if they happened to be feeling merciful.

“Ce’na,” someone whispers to her.

She drops her box of parts and glances behind her at a young boy with spotted pink lekku, Meer’nu. “You’re supposed to be in sector four!” She hisses back at him, “What’re you _doing_ here? Blaster man catch you-”

“No one gonna catch me,” he says to her in a quick quiet voice that tells her something is _seriously_ wrong. “Got news! I was told to tell you so you can tell the old man in sector six so that he can tell-”

“Just tell me the news!” She demands quickly, glancing around to make sure that no one’s looking at them. If Meer’nu’s caught where he isn’t supposed to be he’ll be whipped and if she’s caught with him, she’ll be starved for a couple of days at least. But for some reason she can’t see any of the patrol members around. As she watches, she notices one of the Trandoshan guards running past. What could the _guards_ be running from?

His eyes dart right and left and then he leans in slightly closer and says with awe, “The fences are _down_!”

Ce’na gapes at him uncomprehendingly. The fences are _never_ down. There are high powered energy field fences surrounding every inch of the huge metal refinery complex where all the slaves work and live. Kept up and running every hour of every day to keep them from escaping. She almost can’t believe him. But Meer’nu works in sector four and unlike Ce’na in sector seven, he has a good view of the fence at all times. How can the fences be down?

“Was…” she swallows and tries to think about anything other than the pounding of her heart, “was it one of us?”

Meer’nu shakes his head frantically, “No! Whoever done it, it _ain’t_ one of _us_. Someone _outside_ done it.”

The outside isn’t something they are allowed to be part of. People outside come in and they talk to Three-eyes and then they leave. The outside doesn’t give a damn about bringing down a fence for a bunch of Twi’lek slaves. No one gives a fuck about what happens to them. So who in the nine hells could possibly have brought down Three-eyes’ fence?

“Go tell Tahe in sector nine,” she orders him, “I’ll tell Iyan here!”

They look around for anyone coming, anyone looking at them, and then they split off running. Ce’na just leaves the box of parts she’s supposed to be carrying and she doesn’t look back because the _fence is down_.

The old Twi’lek that is the unspoken leader of the sector seven workforce is in the far back, near the pipes. He takes the jobs with the worst smoke pollution and as a result he can’t walk without hunching over and can’t speak more than a few words without coughing. But he’s one of the elders and he keeps children like Ce’na safe, even when they don’t deserve it. Ce’na doesn’t know what to do with this information, doesn’t know how to stop herself from screaming out, from just running away as fast as she can without stopping. But Old Iyan, who’s lasted twenty years of working in Three-eyes’ holdings, he’ll know what to do.

Ce’na never makes it.

The skies burn.

Ships blackout the sun.

Fire rains down on Three-eyes’ buildings.

The cannon’s bolts don’t touch the slave yards, and Ce’na and everyone else around her stops working, stops moving, stops doing anything at all except staring up at the ships that have inexplicably come, like angels flying down to exact judgment on their owners. The refineries grind to a halt with no one feeding them fuel, the small ones like her stop gathering scrap and leave their hands open and empty and purposeless.

Her whole world has centered on the ships overhead and now nothing else matters. The blaster men could come back and shoot her full of holes and she wouldn’t notice. She could fall over dead from slave lung right then and there and her last sight would be the ships.

She thought she knew ships. She’s been on the clunky slave transports that take her farther and farther away from Ryloth every time and she’s seen some of the tricked out fighters that Three-eyes parades around in.

She’s never known ships like these. Nothing in her dirty stinky ruin of a life can ever be worthy of these ships.

They’re sleek and beautiful and they tear through the sky like the fiercest warrior. A stunning freighter rips holes through the control tower while zipping around everything Three-eyes’ guns can throw at it. A shining cruiser streaks through the cloud of smog to bring the refinery down in a blaze of glory. And in the center of it all is the most intoxicating sight Ce’na has ever seen. A massive corvette warship, equipped with a dozen cannons and huge powerful extenders that shred the very air beneath them.

The warship rips through her sky and consumes her world. It’s beyond a machine, it’s a living being. It’s a krayt dragon, a beast so strong and wild that only the elders can speak of it, telling myths around a faint fire, whispering about how not even the greatest hunters can bring it down and how it’s wrath can burn planets to ash. It’s engines drag up the weak and pathetic Ce’na as it chews up and spits out its enemies with all the fury of a righteous god. She could live her whole life on a ship like that, spend an eternity flying through the galaxy with engines strong enough to split space in its wake.

If she could be anything in the galaxy she would be that ship. She could do anything, go anywhere, take her enemies and crush them beneath the bulk of her presence as though stepping on an ant.

Her world tilts and spins on its new axis.

And later, when the dust has settled and the slaves are freed.

Later, when they whisper Nok Drayen’s name with awe and reverence as they brush their hands over their uncollared necks.

Later, when the pirates come around to make sure that everyone is either leaving the compound on one of their ships or in one of the land speeders.

Later, when a dark haired human girl walks up, sticks her hand out and says, “I’m Risha. You’re an interesting looking one. Are you coming with us?”

How could she possibly do anything else. How could she just turn around and leave when the galaxy beckons through the doors of the corvette warship. She’s found her new religion, her new way of life, the thing that calls out to her and makes her heart pound with the beat of the fastest drummer. The universe is calling out to her and making her blood _sing_.

“I’ll come,” she manages to say.

“Wonderful!” The human girl says with a toothy smile, “It’ll be good to have another girl around, Father keeps recruiting mean old men. What’s your name?”

She’s a comet, she’s dust hurtling through space clinging onto the magnificence of others. She’s the echo of a dragon’s roar. She’s a warship.

“I’m Vette.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name 'Vette' had to come from somewhere, and this is my take on how.  
> If you want to chat with me about swtor or cry over fictional characters, or just put the word 'egg' in my inbox and run, my tumblr is @semper-draca and I'm always over there soooo  
> Thoughts? I'm always a slut for comments


	12. The Torrent and The Vehement Sword

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to FallenAscendant, my fab beta ~  
> Er, yeah. As you might have guessed, Broonmark isn't going to be added as a companion. He just doesn't fit into the Horizon Trash Team dynamic and he'd be pretty superfluous in this story. I did warn you guys that this is not going to follow canon and he was never in the character tags, so I hope you all saw this coming and aren't too let down. Feel free to yell at me if you don't like that choice.  
> This chapter aka :The Return of the Lesbians, Gimrizh and Quinn are foodies, and there are copious quantities of pirates.

Week three of their stay on Hoth finds Vette and Gimrizh sprawled out in a pirate’s cantina in some snowbank between Republic and Imperial territory. There’s a row of tiny shot glasses lined up in front of them and a stack of sabacc cards on the table. They are _technically_ working, although Vette is having far too much fun for it to really be work. She’s a few shots south of tipsy and planning on getting even more inebriated. Gimrizh is the perfect sabacc opponent, a combination of strongly determined to win and completely shit at the game.

“Suck my wookie ass,” Vette says with a grin as she slams a negative twenty four down on the table. “Pure sabacc.”

Gimrizh tosses away her positive thirteen with a disgruntled look. As per the rules, she takes a shot before demanding, “Rematch?”

Fine by her. The line of empty glasses near Vette’s elbow is much smaller than Gimrizh’s. She pulls in the cards and shuffles, “I’m being _so_ nice to you right now,” she says as she does a series of fancy shuffle tricks that would probably be a bit more impressive if the liquor hadn’t already messed up her hand eye coordination.

“You’re winning,” Gimrizh snorts, “how is that ‘nice’?”

“We could be playing strip sabacc,” Vette teases. She deals another hand, not purposely giving herself the best cards. Again, _nice_. “Risha taught me how to do this sleight of hand thing,” she explains, “I could do this trick where every time I dealt, I’d give myself exactly which cards I wanted. I’m not doing that to you, now am I?”

Gimrizh carefully watches her hands as she passes out the cards, “I believe that the point of such a trick is that I wouldn’t be able to tell either way.”

“True,” Vette allows, “but I’m not. Cause I’m _nice_.” What the hell is Gimrizh _doing_? Vette grabs the card out of her friend’s hand before she can put it down, “Uh, this can be kept? Like, I know the rules _say_ you need to take it out of the field, but you don’t have to do that? You can leave it in play.”

Gimrizh frowns at her, “But the rules-”

“Half the point of the game is cheating. There’s a reason it’s so popular with smugglers. Who the fuck taught you how to play sabacc?” Vette asks, laughing at her.

“Quinn,” Gimrizh replies.

The image of the stick in the mud captain teaching a criminal’s card game only makes Vette’s peals of laughter louder, “Yeah right!”

“I’m being serious, Vette. You should try it sometime,” Gimrizh says flatly.

She still can’t tell if it’s a joke or not. There was that time on Quesh when they were both playing, so maybe it is true. She had assumed that Gimrizh taught Quinn the game, not the other way around though. Another thought enters her mind and she leans forward, her head on her hands, grinning lasciviously, “Hey. You should teach Quinn how to play strip sabacc.”

Gimrizh chokes. “I’m _not_ doing that. Besides, he’d never agree to those stupid rules.”

Stars, her friend is utterly _oblivious_. It’s hilarious. Of course, Vette cares about her friend’s happiness, blah blah, but she also cares about getting some quality entertainment, and this is _it_. “I bet he’d be fine playing with _you_.”

“You’re delusional,” Gimrizh retorts, her cheeks bright red, “Now are you going to show your hand or not?”

They both show. Gimrizh has a negative twenty to Vette’s positive seventeen. Well, she supposes she was a bit distracted during that last round. Totally worth it. Vette takes a shot.

“Hey,” Vette says, squinting at a group of pirates across the cantina, “I think I’ve found our contact.”

They both turn to look at the pirates. It’s a motley group, a couple Trandoshians, a Mirialan, even a Jawa. The leader’s a scarred up Mon Cala carrying an electrostaff and perfectly matches the report Quinn pulled off the holonet, right down to the coat on his back. No lightsabers though, so at least there’s that.

Gimrizh abandons her cards, “That’s them. Go set up a deal. I don’t think it would be the best idea to let them know they’re dealing with a Sith right away.”

“Sure thing,” Vette agrees.

She saunters on over to the bar, orders a drink, and starts eyeing the pirates. They’re doing dumb manly things, she guesses. Comparing blasters or something. She doesn’t really care. At least there’s so much noise is this place that anything she says to them won’t be overheard. If someone tries to get close enough to snoop, she’ll be able to see them and put a bolt through their leg.

Sure enough, one of the pirates takes the bait and slides on over to her side. She glances over to see that it’s the Mon Cala boss. Score.

“Now what’s a Twi’lek like yourself doing on such a cold planet like this?” he asks, “Ryloth’s a might warmer, as I recall.”

Vette drains her shot glass and looks him dead in the eyes, “Looking to buy a lightsaber. I hear you’re selling?”

“Now where’d you pick up that little tidbit? Lightsabers are a pretty dangerous market for a dainty thing like you.” He’s not too suspicious, got no reason to be. Vette’s an old hand at this, knows that once you start hanging out where the tough guys hang, they assume you’re one of them. Like they check a criminal’s license when you enter a kriffing cantina. Like criminals have licenses.

“I’ve got my sources, same as you,” Vette tells him, “if I hear you got a lightsaber, then _you got a lightsaber_.”

He laughs, “Your source’s good. I may have a nice little weapon for you. You want anything specific, or are you just looking for something a bit more powerful than a laser saw?”

“Sith,” she says, “Belonged to Darth Baras, fore he lost it to some Jedi.”

“Well,” the Mon Cala whistles, an odd fishy sort of sound, “that’s some _very_ good information you got. Not just any old lightsaber craving, huh?”

She shrugs. He’s digging for information on her supposed ‘source’, but he’s not going to find anything. Like he’d ever guess that she heard all this from Baras himself. Or well, from Gimrizh herself who heard it from Baras himself. Semantics. “Like I said,” she repeats, “I heard you had a lightsaber.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll bite,” he relents, “you want my very fine lightsaber and no other lightsaber will do. I’ve got what you’re looking for, as you no doubt already know. I do have another interested party-”

A barking laugh escapes her lips, “No, you don’t,” she says, calling his bluff, “you just want me to shell out more credits than is reasonable. I ain’t a kriffing Hutt, I don’t shit spice.”

He grins at her, “It’ll cost you what I say it’ll cost. You want something this specific, you’re going to pay whatever the hells I say you are.”

“Fine.” She’s not paying anyways, “Name your price.”

“Hundred grand,” he puts down.

Well now she’s got to haggle him down a bit. Any reasonable person would try and lower that price, and she doesn’t want to be obvious about how it’s a trap. “Fifty, I ain’t crazy.”

“Ninety.”

“Seventy.”

“Eighty-five,” he proposes, apparently enjoying her efforts, “I’ve dealt with pubs, imps, and a nutjob Talz for this lightsaber. Ain’t going a single credit lower. Unless you want to put something else on the table…”

Hells no, “Eighty-five thousand then,” she agrees. “Name the place and I’ll be there with your money. So long as you’re there with my lightsaber.”

He pulls out a datapad and types in a series of coordinates. Then he yanks the datastick out and tosses it to her, “There’s your place and time. Bring eighty-five thousand and your cute blue ass, and I’ll have your lightsaber.”

“Charming,” she says sharply, grabbing the datastick, “Pleasure doing buisness with you.”

She makes it back to their table, post haste. After sinking down into her chair and pushing the sabacc cards out of her way, she sets the datastick down on the table in front of Gimrizh, “And that’s how it’s done. We’ve got a time and place set up there, and then we show up, guns blazing, two Imps, two Sith, and my perfect self. Pirates won’t stand a chance and then you’ll be sitting pretty with your master’s lightsaber.”

Gimrizh places the datastick in her pocket and smirks, “Good work. Now, are we going to finish this game or not?”

“Prepare to get wrecked,” Vette says, grabbing the cards again.

~*~

Foris has to admit that when he received this transfer, he’d been expecting something a bit different. Sure, there’s been some interesting work, and he had fun running scout and ambush missions against the Republic back on Taris. That’s the sort of thing he’s used to, though, and the rest of the work _isn’t_. He’s spent a lot more time fixing this damn ship than he would have guessed at the start. He actually finds himself liking it, even if it’s not his usual fare. It’s a good ship, got good engines. It’s made for war just like he is.

What he’s not quite so used to are the weird Sith missions. Targeting a Republic cruiser for the purpose of killing one person? It gets the job done, but there are _better_ ways. Hunting down a lightsaber on the ice ball that is Hoth? There’s a war going on. He’d have been shipped out to the front lines by now.

“Hydrospanner,” he asks Jaesa, holding his hand out.

The girl doesn’t move, but the hydrospanner floats into his hand anyway.

Good ship, good company. Jaesa’s an alright sort. Eager to do a job right and doesn’t get underfoot much. Not what he was expecting when he heard that she’s the boss’s apprentice. Neither of them are particularly similar to any Sith he’s met before. It’s not bad though, they’re decent to work under, and that’s more than he can say for some Sith.

He doesn’t mind the other two girls on the ship either. Vette’s a civilian, which is weird, but she’s good in a fight. Not bad company either. And as far as bosses go, Gimrizh is a pretty ideal one. So far, he’s definitely gotten the free range that she promised him back on Taris. So long as she doesn’t do damage that he could have prevented or try and run her crew into the ground, he thinks they’ll get along just fine.

No, the only person he actively can’t stand is the fucking captain. Uptight, prissy bastard. Foris _knows_ how to repair a kriffing hyperdrive, he doesn’t _need_ constant input and correction from someone who can probably barely hold a damn blaster. Foris resists the urge to glare at him from across the engine room. He’s more professional than that. _He_ knows how to do his own damn job, and unlike the captain, he knows better than to interfere with other people’s work.

Jaesa’s eyes snap open, “My master’s returned.” That’s so convenient, even if Foris wouldn’t trade his best blaster for force powers.

“Are you aware if our lord’s mission was successful?” the captain inquires.

“Er,” Jaesa frowns and then shrugs, “I can’t tell. She’s… confused? Injured? I’m not sure, it’s all very murky. I don’t think anything’s wrong, though.”

Foris pushes a durasteel covering back into place and reconnects the power couplings in the hyperdrive. “She went to a cantina,” he reminds them, “She’s probably just drunk.”

He rolls his eyes as Quinn looks highly offended by the very idea of such a thing, “The Lord Gimrizh,” the captain says pointedly, “is above such things. Vette might not be, but our lord is more sensible than that.”

That’s when Vette and the boss stagger into the engine room. Vette’s carrying a half-gone bottle of whiskey, and both of them have flushed faces and smell like a cantina. Damn. Foris should have bet credits. At least the captain’s scandalized face is a hilarious bonus.

Gimrizh tosses a datastick at the captain, stumbles, and then straightens up, her cheeks burning underneath her tattoos, “We have a thing. Sometime. It’s on that thing.”

“Er,” Quinn hesitates, looking perplexedly at the datastick in his hands, “My lord, you look… quite red?”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” Vette suddenly snaps, pointing the bottle of whiskey at him, “Is that some kinda stupid ass Zabrak joke? Fuck you and your speciesist bullshit. I’ll have you know that her skin is a nice pinkish orangish color. It’s almost fucking human-colored. Not all Zabraks have red skin, so fuck your stereotyping.”

Quinn recoils, “Excuse me?”

Oh stars, this is the best thing Foris has seen all day. If this is what Vette’s like when drunk, he should buy her a whole crate of tihaar. “You fucking heard me,” Vette insists, angrily shaking the pointed bottle, “What’s next, huh? Are my lekku ‘rat tails’? You gonna call her ‘horns’?”

Gimrizh collapses against the wall, giggling, “You know - you know what? I haven’t been called ‘horns’ in - in years. And the last time - I killed the guy. Isn’t that hilarious?”

“Dude, you’re fucked up,” Vette tells her honestly.

“Huh. Thought you would approve of killing speciesist bastards,” Foris comments. He’s not _trying_ to fan the flames or anything. It’s just harmless amusement. He’s been around enough drunk squad mates to be able to tell the difference.

Vette thinks on that, “Maybe only kill them a little? Enough to make them sorry?”

“Okay,” Jaesa steps in, taking the bottle out of Vette’s hands, “why don’t you get some rest? If we… er… have a mission, you don’t want to be hungover for it, do you?”

“Jaesa, are my lekku pretty?” Vette asks, her words slurring as she leans against the girl’s shoulder.

Jaesa sighs and tugs Vette out of the engine room. She shoots Foris and the captain an apologetic look over her shoulder as she does, because she’s taking one drunk idiot out and leaving them with the other. “Very pretty,” she says consolingly, “They’ll er… be even prettier under the lights in our quarters, don't you think?”

Her weird way of getting Vette to lie down makes Foris bark out a laugh. It works though, and Vette gets steered towards a bed and probably some painkillers without much protest. Which leaves him and Quinn to deal with their silly, giggling, drunk as all get out boss.

“You shouldn’t just sit there, my lord,” the captain says, offering Gimrizh his hand, “I believe it would be best if you too got some sleep before our mission.”

She lets him haul her to her feet, “Okay. I trust you.”

Foris almost misses it. Half his attention had already turned back to the hyperdrive repairs, but he still was partly focused on what his boss was doing. He _didn’t_ miss it. There’s a second, just a brief moment after Gimrizh speaks when the captain looks _guilty_. It’s gone a second later and Quinn goes back to that blank facade of professionalism. But it’s still there. Foris knows what he saw and he doesn’t know why the captain is guilty that his boss trusts him.

Over the years, Foris has worked with dozens of different squads and battalions and he knows that trust between soldiers and their commanders is a _good_ thing. There’s no guilt associated with it, not unless you’re planning on stealing your fellow trooper’s cigarras. So what in the force-damned hells does the captain have to be guilty about?

Foris isn’t a paranoid bastard in general, although he knows that suspicion has its place. He trusts his instincts. Instinct has sometimes been the only thing that’s got him out of a fight that the rest of his team didn’t get through. And his instincts are telling him that his dislike of the captain isn’t just personal. The man’s up to something, and Foris plans on finding out what.

~*~

“I didn’t _plan_ on getting that drunk,” Gimrizh promises the next morning, “It was an accident. I was playing sabacc with Vette and then she kept insisting on playing some drinking game rendition of it, and, well, I kept _almost_ winning. I _do_ apologize, really, it was highly immature of me and it won’t happen again.”

“I believe you, my lord,” Quinn tells her, “Please pass the eggs.”

She hands over the carton and returns to grating a hunk of cheese. “I didn’t say anything stupid last night, did I? I can’t quite remember.”

Quinn cracks three eggs into a bowl before putting the carton back. She’s not been given any really difficult jobs in the kitchen, given her lack of experience when it comes to cooking. Mostly Quinn has her cutting and measuring ingredients to avoid letting her actually get the chance to burn things. It’s fun though, and she loves eating the results. This morning, they’re making omelets. Hoth isn’t exactly a planet with an impressive food culture, and they’re limited to what _Horizon_ is already stocked with and what Imperial supply posts on the spacedock offer.

“You mentioned that someone referred to you using the slur ‘horns’ and that you killed them,” he tells her, “That was about it, my lord. Vette talked far more than you did.”

She can’t _believe_ she said that out-loud. “Oh stars,” she says, and then wishes she didn’t sound so utterly stupid every time she opens her mouth in front of Quinn, “Please forget you ever heard me say that. ”

He pauses in the middle of stirring herbs into the egg mixture, “You said something, my lord?”

“Nope,” she says with a sigh of relief, “not a thing.”

The board of shredded cheese gets passed down and Quinn pours out two omelets onto the hot pan. She hands him a spatula and then starts dumping the dirty dishes into the sonic washer. Toovee can take care of that later. The droid’s good at cleaning things, semi-decent at repairing things that don’t live in the engine room, and pretty useless at anything else. His circuitry also gets slowed down by the cold of Hoth’s atmosphere.

The warm smell of cooking egg and melting cheese fills the gallery. “You mentioned that Vette talked a lot more than I did,” she remembers, “please tell me she didn’t say anything rude.”

“I could, my lord,” Quinn says hesitantly, “it would be a lie, but I could.”

Oh dear. She winces, “I apologize on her behalf, then.”

He flips a golden yellow omelet onto a plate and hands it to her, “I’ve never asked you to apologize for Vette’s actions. She lacks impulse control even when sober.”

“Do try and get along with her,” Gimrizh asks. She takes a bite from her plate and almost swoons from deliciousness, “This is amazing.”

He frowns at the omelet currently cooking on the skillet, “I’m uncertain about the peppers.”

“No, they work,” she decides, giving the matter the careful consideration that it deserves. “The dairy balances out the heat, and they’re just spicy enough to add a certain something.”

The second omelet is finished and Quinn takes an experimental bite, “Hm. You’re right. They work.”

Vette stumbles into the galley just after they’ve finished breakfast and as Gimrizh is mixing up a mug of caff for herself. She appears flawless as usual, and she doesn't _look_ hungover. Of course, that means little once Vette collapses on a chair, nursing a bottle of painkillers. Vette glances up at Gimrizh to see the jar of instant caff and promptly steals it for herself.

“How are you not…” she gestures at Gimrizh, “not dying right now? You drank way more than I did.”

Gimrizh shrugs, but relinquishes the caff anyways, “Luck? Blame it on the force, if it makes you feel better.”

Vette pours herself a huge jar of caff, “Fuck the force,” she mutters, “I guess I’ll just take fifty painkillers and drown my brain with caffeine before we have to go out into that kriffing blizzard of a planet and deal with pirates.”

“No, you’re not,” Quinn tells her, plucking the jar of pills out of her hand and putting it out of her reach, “because this is an acetaminophen and can cause liver damage when mixed with alcohol.”

“Fuck you,” Vette mumbles into the counter, her voice almost inaudible.

He calmly makes himself a cup of tea and tries to be on the other half of the galley than she is, “Please refrain.”

“I’d make a joke, but I’m too hungover,” she says. She grabs her huge mug of caff and stalks out of the room, “I’ll be ready to head out later. Make sure to grab a billion jackets before heading out, boss, it’s cold as hell out there.”

Gimrizh just takes a sip of her caff, “Vette, I know how cold it is.”

“Colder than fucking space, that’s what,” Vette mumbles, shutting the door behind her.

“That’s-” Quinn says, annoyed. He glares at the closed door and decides to finish his sentence anyways, too irritated at Vette to just let it go, “That’s impossible. Space has no heat, it’s just not physically possible for a planet to be colder than that. Hoth, at least, has a sun, and a core of molten hot rock.”

She’s not going to touch that argument with a ten foot pole. Her crew already has enough difficulty getting along, she’s not going to push it. As far as she’s concerned, that conversation went as well as could be expected, just because Vette promised that she actually would be ready to go on the mission later. That’s a win in her book. She polishes off her mug of caff and tosses it in the sink, “What time should we leave the ship for our little meeting with those pirates?”

“Within two hours, my lord,” he says, putting the last of the breakfast plates away, “The shuttle to the surface will take one hour, and I estimate another two hours needed to reach the rendezvous point.”

That’s not bad. She only needs a moment to get ready, all she has to do is grab a coat and her lightsabers. “Alright.”

She opens the conservator and contemplates packing a lunch. She’s not going back to ration bars ever again, after all.

~*~

Hoth is a frigid, icy wasteland. Even though Gimrizh considers every planet to be ‘at least better than Korriban’, this one almost doesn’t make the cut. The chill is bad enough, but it’s wet too, and the snow soaks into her clothes until the cold permeates every bone in her body. She was stupid enough to only grab a heavy overcoat and now she’s shamelessly tapping into the force to stay warm. Jaesa’s dressed lightly as well, so she’s probably doing the same. Vette is the sensible one, bundled up to hell and back. Pierce's armour is cold resistant, the bastard, and Quinn has a heavy, synthfur-lined coat over his uniform. There are many things she’s willing to do, but admit she’s cold after Vette specifically told her to dress warmly is not one of them. What’s even worse than her pervasive foolishness in not dressing properly is that the ice keeps freezing over their speeder’s parts.

They’ve had to stop and make repairs three times so far, and even with their head start and the plan to arrive before the pirates do, they’re barely on time for the planned meet up. The speeder is an unmarked vehicle, but it’s definitely an Imperial make, so they hide it in an ice formation a ways out from the pirate’s hideout. They go the rest of the way on foot.

The coordinates the pirates gave lead to a metal bunker built into an ice wall. It’s an old and partially dilapidated building, probably an army outpost for one side or the other during the Great War. Since then, she presumes that it’s fallen into disuse and is now just a safe hideout for the bands of pirates that eek out a living from salvaging the hundreds of shipwrecks that litter Hoth’s surface.

“Don’t do anything sudden,” Vette tells them as they make their way through the trashed front halls of the bunker, “pirates like being able to see where all the blasters are, so they know when you draw ‘em.”

Gimrizh uses the force to move a fallen durasteel beam out of their path, “We’re here to fight them and steal my master’s lightsaber. I don’t particularly care what pirates like.”

They make it into the main bunker chamber and Gimrizh’s stomach sinks even before she sees the disaster with her own two eyes.

Instead of a team of pirates waiting to sell them a lightsaber, it’s an unfamiliar team of scavengers rifling through crates. The pirates that she and Vette dealt with are unconscious. Their bodies are piled up in a corner and decked out in binders and rope, on the off chance that they wake up, escape won’t be possible for them. All she wanted was in, out, easy ambush. She makes off with her master’s lightsaber and the pirates don’t put up a fight.

Now they’ve got to deal with a motley group of krething scavengers.

The leader is a scruffy Republic Zabrak with one horn partially shaved off. He yelps and jumps up as soon as they enter, “Ah shit, you must be the buyers!”

Behind her back, she makes a simple gesture that her crew can see. They spread out, Pierce and Jaesa slowly moving to the edge of the group, with Vette and Quinn at her sides. She’s rather hoping that this little team of scavengers isn’t itching for a fight. Perhaps they can get through this whole event without bloodshed.

“That’s correct,” Gimrizh says calmly, keeping an eye on the rest of the Zabrak’s team.

There’s a couple humans, another one of her kind, and two other subspecies. She’s not getting a warning from the force, but she also doesn’t think this gang are pushovers, exactly. Sometimes, she wishes the force held more clarity for her.

The Zabrak scratches his shaggy head of hair and looks somewhat awkward, “Er. Look. Finder’s keepers, right? We got here first, so that means this fancy little lightsaber is ours.”

“I’m afraid not,” she tells him, “However, I’m certain we can come to an arrangement.”

The scavenger leader shrugs at her, “How much are you willing to fork over?”

“My lord,” Quinn says, addressing her without taking his steely gaze completely off the enemy, “There’s no need to deal with these criminals. The lightsaber belongs to Darth Baras and as we have no ties to whatever pirate band they represent, there’s no reason why we can’t simply _take_ the lightsaber from them.”

“Good point,” she agrees.

The Zabrak gapes at them, “What - no, that’s no fun! We _totally_ have a right to this piece of shiny treasure!”

She gives him a scathing look, “Really.”

“Yeah-” he looks wildly around at his crew and points a finger at the Mon Cala member, “We - uh - we have a Jedi! See, so that makes a lightsaber Jedi-related, and we have a Jedi where you don’t. So it’s ours,” he nudges his head at the Mon Cala, “Guss. Do the thing.”

The Mon Cala - Guss - startles. “Oh yeah!” he reaches into a pocket and pulls out a lightsaber. On the third try, the blade flickers to life, “See - I’m a Jedi,” he says, unconvincingly, “This booty is mine. None of you can stand in the way of a Jedi.”

Vette chokes down a laugh.

There’s barely the weakest flicker of force sensitivity from the Mon Cala. If he ever _was_ a Jedi, she doubts he held a rank greater than padawan. No, probably less than that. Jaesa’s at padawan rank and she doesn’t want to insult her apprentice by comparing her skill level to this Mon Cala’s level of incompetence. “That’s cute,” Gimrizh comments, “you’re no Jedi. Maybe you have a tiny drop of force abilities, but there’s nothing more than that. There’s no _power_ in you.”

“That’s speciesist,” the Zabrak says frankly, in a manner that almost reminds her of Vette, “What, just cause Guss is Mon Cala, he can’t be a Jedi? That’s a very backwards attitude to have, and I’m truly disappointed that it’s coming from one of my own,” he shakes his head slowly. “For shame.”

“What, no-” How do all her conversations seem to come back to speciesism? “This is absurd. Hand over the lightsaber or else our negotiations are about to get far more violent than you’re prepared for.”

The Zabrak bursts into laughter, “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you? I’m Zirin Zarnun, captain of the _Torrent_ , best spacer, smuggler, and privateer who ever lived!”

Quinn pointedly clears his throat and glares at Zirin, “Firstly, I doubt you are actually a captain, as that is a rank that must be _earned_. Secondly, renown is no measure of competency. Most importantly, _you_ clearly have no idea who _you’re_ dealing with.”

“Excuse me?” Zirin gasps, offended, “I am not only famous, I am _infamous_! I recovered Nok Drayen’s treasure hoard for fuck’s sake!”

Now there’s a familiar name.

“That’s a load of bullshit!” Vette cries, taking a step forward and looking like she’s one more word away from shooting him, “Nok Drayen vanished years ago - I was there!”

One of the human scavengers, a sharp, dark haired woman, scoffs, “ _I_ was there, both when my father supposedly vanished and when Zirin rediscovered the treasure. I can say with certainty that-”

“Your ‘father’?” Vette interjects, shocked. Her jaw drops and the anger bleeds from her posture, “No- it can’t be- _Risha_?”

Gimrizh blinks. Vette’s old pirate friend? Nok Drayen’s daughter?

The scavenger’s eyes go wide, “ _Vette_? You’re _alive_?”

And then the two of them run across the room and fling themselves into each other’s arms. They hug each other like their lives depend on it, crying up a storm of “I thought you were dead!” and “I can’t believe it’s really you!”

“I admit,” Gimrizh says quietly to Quinn, feeling like she just got caught in a speeder’s headlights, “This is not how I expected this to go.”

“I doubt either of us could have seen this coming, my lord,” he replies, just as stunned as she is by this entire debacle.

While her side of the stand off is a mix of surprise and confusion, Zirin seems utterly _thrilled_ by this turn of events, “This is wonderful! If you’re friends with Risha, that makes us friends too! No need to worry about this pesky lightsaber business, it’s yours for free! Just let us dig through what’s left here, and you can take it! Nothing regrettable has to happen!”

“A fight would not have been regrettable,” the female Zabrak on his crew comments blandly, although no one seems to pay her words much attention.

Pierce slowly lowers his blaster, “So are we fighting them or not?” he asks.

“Er - no?” Gimrizh decides, “I think not.” It would be in poor form for them to attack Risha’s crew right after Risha and Vette have just been reunited after so many years. Besides, Zirin just offered them the lightsaber for free, so they don’t _really_ have an issue with them anymore.

Risha and Vette finally pull apart, bright smiles spread across their faces. “Sit down,” Risha says to the group, gesturing at the supply crates scattered around the room, “I want to hear everything about what you’re up to, who your new friends are. You always were good at forging connections, I remember that.”

It’s the strangest conversation Gimrizh has ever had.

She and Quinn are awkwardly sitting in the back, while Jaesa is perched on the same crate as Vette, and Pierce leans against the nearest support beam with his hands never far from his blaster. Risha’s an inch away from Vette as the two of them chat excitedly. Zirin, the human male who introduces himself as Corso, and Guss are all sitting around Risha and joining in on the conversation. The female Zabrak, apparently named Akaavi of clan Spar, looms menacingly in the background with the massive Wookie whose name she couldn’t understand, as she’s unable to speak Shyriiwook.

“- and then we recovered this old Ryloth statue,” Vette explains, her voice a cheery stream of words and stories that Risha drinks in, “I think that was when we decided to move on from pickpocketing and start tracking down the old treasures. You would have _loved_ it, it was entirely the kind of targeted work that you liked best, not any of those random raids we used to do.”

Risha grins, her mouth sharp as a vibroknife, “I do miss that work. Remember the _Headhunter_?”

“Oh stars, that was the best!” Vette laughs, “Remember that Nautolan dude from the -”

“With the scar -” Risha finishes, “I can’t believe you remember that, It’s been ages.”

Vette beams at her, “Of course I remember, you’re basically my _sister_ , how could I forget any of that - oh Risha- the other day - I found _Tivva_!”

“That’s amazing - you were always talking about finding her again!” Risha gasps, “How?”

Jaesa grins at her friend, “Vette was brilliant, after the official databases yielded no results, she hired this bounty hunter to track down her sister.”

“It actually didn’t take too long, the guy was really good at his job,” Vette adds, “And then Gimrizh here paid for both the bounty hunter fees _and_ for Tivva’s freedom.”

Gimrizh goes very still as Risha gives her a long and contemplative look, as if getting a read on her. At last, Risha apparently approves. She slowly nods her head, “That was quite decent of you. I’m glad Vette’s found another gang.”

“We are _not_ a gang,” Quinn says firmly.

“You are an organized group of three or more people,” Zirin recites, “coming together for the purpose of committing crimes and other shady dealings. That’s a gang.”

It’s strange, she’s not sure if she hates Zirin or finds him hilarious. “That may be the definition of the word,” Quinn replies, glaring intently at the Zabrak, “but it does not apply in this circumstance, as none of us are currently or ever have been engaged in criminal activities. With the exception of Vette, obviously. I can’t speak for anything she may have done in the past.”

Zirin snorts, “ _Please_. You came here to steal a lightsaber from pirates. That’s pretty fucking shady if you ask me.”

“That lightsaber belongs to my master,” Gimrizh interjects, “unlike your fake conman of a Jedi, my master can actually _use_ that blade.”

The mood suddenly drops, like they’ve been plunged into freezing cold water.

“Don’t tell me,” Risha asks with a groan, “Vette, I can’t believe you’re hanging around with Sith.”

“Why does it matter to you?” Gimrizh demands, “You’re pirates, you have no allegiance to either side in this war.”

Zirin coughs and says in a weak voice, “Republic privateers, actually.”

Well. That changes some things.

The first one to break the silence is Akaavi Spar. She grabs a wicked looking techstaff from her back and jumps to her feet, “I may not like the Republic,” she says, with enough aggression to fight every single one of them in that instant, “but I swore vengeance against the Empire many years ago and will not stand idly by now.”

“Always wanted to fight a Mandalorian,” Pierce agrees, raising his blaster and taking a threatening step forward.

Everyone in the room reaches for their weapons.

“Enough!” Gimrizh yells, throwing an echo of the force behind her voice. They all freeze, blaster’s partially drawn and Jaesa’s lightsaber two seconds away from being activated. “This doesn’t have to end badly,” she states, “For kriff’s sake, we don’t have to shoot each other. Zirin, you already agreed we could have my master’s lightsaber if you were allowed the rest of what remains here. There’s still no issue with those terms. We don’t have to fight over money.”

Quinn hesitates, one hand still on his blaster. “You want to let these Republic criminals _go_ , my lord?” he asks incredulously.

They’re in a war. The Republic is their enemy. She’s an idiot. But at the end of the day, they’re in an abandoned pirate safehouse hours away from any military base. Whatever she does here won’t make it back to Baras. He’ll never have to know if she spares a crew of glorified pirates for hire that just happen to currently have been hired by the Republic.

“They’re Vette’s friends,” she reminds him.

Vette sighs in relief, “ _Thank_ you.”

“Well, I’ve got no problem with it,” Zirin says with a shrug, sliding his blaster back into it’s holster, “No fighting it is. Akaavi, Bowdaar, please put your weapons away. We can go find ourselves a nice little brawl later.”

The Zabrak reluctantly puts down her techstaff, “I will refrain from your offer. Brawls have no honor to them.”

Bowdaar - so that’s the Wookie’s name - growls something incoherent and lowers his vibroblade.

“Great!” Zirin exclaims, clearly grateful that this won’t get bloody. “Now, let’s get some damn profit over here, huh?” He gestures to the supply crates that litter the room, sweeping his hand quickly over the unconscious pirates so as not to draw attention to them, “I want anything of value packed up and on our speeder, post haste. Leave the garbage behind, I don’t want to have to bother with it.”

The pirates - Republic privateers, she reminds herself - snap to work. Corso and Guss start rifling through the crates and hand over anything worth credits to Akaavi or Bowdaar, who lug them outside, probably to whatever speeder they have parked. The group does it with an efficiency that speaks of much practice. It’s actually a bit impressive.

“Here,” Zirin says to her, “I’ve got that lightsaber you want.”

He hands over the cold metal cylinder and she wraps her fingers around the hilt, relieved that she has not failed her master’s mission.

The lightsaber quickly vanished into one of her cloak’s pockets. “Thank you for cooperating,” she says, “this could have gone a lot worse if you hadn’t ordered your crew to stand down.”

“Eh,” he gives her a dopey grin, “It was nothing. Besides, you’re my sorta-girlfriend’s adopted sister’s adopted sister, and a Zabrak. That basically makes us kin.”

He bounces off to help with the goods, leaving Gimrizh feeling once again, like she just got thrown off balance.

They are _not_ family - that’s ridiculous. She barely knows the man, and she barely knows Risha, and for that matter, she’s not even sure if she _is_ Vette’s adopted sister. It’s not as though the idea is distasteful to her, because she cares about Vette a great deal. Only Gimrizh does not exactly have a very good track record with adopted family and she refuses to let herself fail Vette in the same way she failed Yaina.

“Quinn,” she says quietly as the rest of the group joins the commotion, “If Vette ever invites me to a family gathering, please remind me _not_ to go.”

He glances over at where Vette and Risha are lugging around a crate of contraband hand grenades, “That, my lord, is a promise I can certainly keep.”

~*~

Risha, in all her years living on the wrong side of the law, had never assumed she would run into Vette again. The galaxy is a vast place, and for so long she had just been playing out the role that her father had given her. She imagined that Vette stayed on Nar Shaddaa maybe, dug herself into the criminal industry that runs that moon. She had been guilty of abandoning her friend and all she’d been able to do was hope that Vette would be alright.

Working alongside a Sith was never an expected path for her friend to take.

“We have space on our ship,” Risha tells Vette once Zirin’s packed up most of what they can sell for profit. “No one onboard will give a damn what you did against the Republic.”

Even before she says the words, she knows that Vette won’t accept her offer. She has to make the offer anyways, though. Risha’s failed Vette a number of times over the years and if reading through the script of what a responsible caring friend would say helps, then Risha’ll do it regardless.

As expected, Vette shakes her head, “Thanks, but I can’t. I’ll stay in touch, I really will, and I’ll call you and send you mail and stuff. But, I don’t know, I’ve found a good thing here.”

“You’re quite lucky,” Risha agrees, already knowing that she’s going to have to leave her friend behind once more.

“Oh, I don’t know, I think you might have found something pretty nice for yourself,” Vette winks and looks pointedly at Zirin.

She’s not wrong. Zirin might be a braggadocious, thrill-seeking, bleeding-heart, mouthy spacer, but Risha’s half those things herself on occasion. And she does have to admit that he’s got a very talented mouth, at that. She’s technically a queen, which does throw a hydrospanner into any long term plans. But hells, whatever ends up happening will happen. She’s just going to enjoy the ride while she can. And if that ride happens to be a tricked-out freighter with a captain who’s got an ass tight enough to bounce a credit chip off of, then all the better.

“He’s a bit of fun, I’ll give you that,” Risha says noncommittally, which could be the only adjective she needs to describe her current relationship.

Vette rolls her eyes, “‘A bit of fun’ okay, sure. You tell yourself that.”

Hey it’s not like she’s marrying the guy. It’s just sex with a side dish of making out after a particularly adrenaline-filled job. No need to bring _emotions_ into it.

She enjoys the rush. It’s something that she and Vette have always had in common. Her thoughts turn back to her friend and she sobers. “Vette,” she says firmly, putting her hands on her friend’s shoulders, “please take care of yourself while you’re out running around with Sith.”

“That’s a bit hypocritical, coming from you,” Vette comments.

It’s different though. Risha’s got her hands on her blaster rifle and her heart in the thrill of it, yes, but she’s got her feet planted firmly on a patch of Dubrillion soil. Vette doesn’t have that. Her friend’s always been a comet, rocketing through the galaxy. A trail of fire that gets tugged towards the biggest planet. For the longest time, Risha and her father had been the largest sun, the densest cloud of space that pulled Vette in. Now Vette’s found herself a supernova to orbit and she’s worried her friend might get consumed by it.

Risha’s always wanted to be the one sitting at the helm, steering her own ship into danger with her eyes on the prize. The thrills and the adventure of it are the goal and she comes to them on her own terms. Vette likes to jump on a freighter, close her eyes, and see where it takes her. It’s that trait more than anything that Risha’s always thought would get her friend into more trouble than she could get out of.

She doesn’t say that, though. It’s not the right thing _to_ say. “You’ve always ran after the biggest ship in a spaceport,” is what she tells Vette, trying to press the importance of her words, “make sure this one’s got a steady pair of engines.”

“You do the same,” Vette presses, “I’ve been hanging around with this Sith for a while now, seen what the Empire does. You’ve chosen your side, and I ain’t gonna argue with that. I’m not sure I’m on the right side to begin with, so I can’t criticize your choice. I’m just going to say this - If you ever face a Sith on the battlefield, run like your fucking life depends on it cause it _does_. Some are decent - Gimrizh is good company. Some are honestly insane.”

“So stern,” Risha says teasingly, trying to lighten it up, “I make no promises, but I’ll remember. Got any other words of wisdom you feel like sharing?”

Vette frowns, darts her eyes around the room. There’s no one too close to them, the nearest person is the human girl, Jaesa, and she’s not paying them much mind. Vette says quietly, but forcefully, “If you ever hear about anything related to a Sith named Darth Baras, head to the opposite side of the galaxy. Do _not_ mess with that guy.”

It’s got to be serious if it makes Vette that worried, “Alright. I’ll keep clear of him.”

“Good,” Vette sighs, a smile sliding back onto her face.

Risha hugs her tightly one last time, “I’ll see you the next time you’re in neutral space.”

Vette laughs, “Go steal every moon out of the krething sky for me, yeah?”

~*~

They make it back to the ship without further incident. There are still a number of repairs that need doing, and the blaster marks on _Horizon_ ’s hull are being particularly stubborn about fucking off, so Gimrizh predicts that they’re going to remain in port for at least another couple of weeks before they can make for Dromund Kaas and deliver her master’s prize. Risha and the crew of _Torrent_ have already hit the hyperlanes, and Vette’s gone through a brief period of moping that ended with her usual brevity.

It’s been almost two weeks into that predicted time period, and looking like perhaps Gimrizh is going to have a quiet, peaceful stay on this planet when she gets a holo from Commander Slinte with the instruction to come down to Dorn Base _immediately_.

She and Quinn shuttle down to the surface as soon as she gets the call and land at the main Imperial base they have on Hoth. For a planet that’s basically in a permanent stand-off between the Republic and the Empire, the base is shockingly hectic. When she read the basic Imperial pamphlet about Hoth, it described the planet as in an unending gridlock. The Empire lacks the manpower to actually win the war for good here, but the same can be said for the Republic. So both sides just _sit_ here, making sure that no ground is lost.

“Commander,” she demands, striding into the communications room of the base, “bring me up to speed.”

Slinte is a mousy, nervous sort of man who Gimrizh privately thinks is not entirely suited for leadership. He has none of the easy confidence or control that Quinn has, which, for some reason, is the first thing she thinks of. “My lord,” he says in greeting, “welcome to Hoth.”

“I’ve been here for some time now actually,” she reminds him, hoping that he will get to the point and tell her what is so damn important that he practically _ordered_ her down here, “Please, skip the pleasantries and get to business.”

“Right,” Slinte agrees hesitantly. He starts pressing buttons on a floor mounted holo until a flickering blue image of a section of Hoth’s surface appears, “Do you know what this is?”

Not a clue. Quinn steps forward and examines the map, “That’s a section of the _Vehement Sword_. It’s a Republic warship that crashed during the Battle of Hoth.”

“So it’s a ruined ship,” Gimrizh summarizes, “Hoth is full of them, why does it matter?”

The image changes into what looks like schematics for a large, ship-mounted cannon. It doesn’t look like a standard particle cannon, or even an ion cannon. Whatever it is, she hasn’t seen it before. But Quinn has, “Null cannons,” he informs her, “a powerful, superweapon prototype developed by the Republic during the war. They function by firing electromagnetic-based energy blasts that can supposedly disable starships. The cannons were never brought into use during the war, as the prototypes went down with the _Vehement Sword_. Neither the Republic or the Empire has managed to recover them, similar to many tech prototypes that were lost during the Battle of Hoth.”

“That _was_ the case, yes,” Slinte says nervously, “The circumstances have changed a bit, and now the Empire needs your help. Darth Baras speaks highly of you, my lord, and well - Sith are hard to come by on Hoth. We need all the help we can get.”

He’s not very good at his job, “You’re not used to being commander, are you?” she asks him.

“Er - no,” he admits, “Commander Lanklyn used to be in charge, only then he got killed by Republic Talz and I was promoted in his place. Until a month or so ago, I was just an ensign.”

So not only is she stepping in on a mission that she still doesn’t know the full details of, but she’s doing it for a man who can barely do his own job. Part of her wants to just overhaul the whole damn system here. “Tell me, what’s changed?” she asks, “Why are these Null Cannons suddenly an issue?”

“We have received intelligence that indicates a Republic effort to recover the cannons, led by Admiral Revald and an unidentified Jedi,” Slinte explains, “I don’t know how far they’ve managed to get in terms of locating the cannons, but what we’ve heard isn’t good. This Jedi has negotiated a deal with the pirate, Captain Sero, who has access to the cannons.”

Pirates again. Why is everything on this planet about pirates? “How does a _pirate_ get his hands on a Republic superweapon?”

Slinte shuffles his feet, “We don’t know. The entire Starship Graveyard is overrun with White Maw pirates, it’s entirely possible that they just got lucky.”

“Perfect,” she says sarcastically, “When’s the deal? Do we know when they’re going to make the exchange?”

“No,” Slinte mutters.

Useless, this commander is _useless_.

“Tell me, Commander Slinte,” she bites out, trying not to blunt her words, “what do you think the Republic would do to us if they got their hands on these Null Cannons? Do you think that they would shove them in a lab to be studied, or do you think that they will mount them to the front of their warships and fire them at Imperial ships?”

Slinte wilts underneath her gaze, “I - well, I suppose - “

“I don’t care what you suppose,” Gimrizh snaps, “I’m taking control of this operation. Quinn, you’re now overseeing the mission to figure out whatever the hell the Republic is planning and how to stop it.”

Quinn nods, already downloading the information from the holo onto his own datapad, “Thank you, my lord. I’ll go over the reports concerning the _Vehement Sword_ , the Null Cannons, and whatever else we have on this Captain Sero and the Republic task force attempting to recover the weapons.” He gestures at Slinte, “You are dismissed, commander. Unless you have anything else to offer.”

“Er- no. I’ll -” Slinte tries.

“Go do your job,” Gimrizh orders, already moving to Quinn’s side by the holo.

Slinte bows and steps out of the room. She wonders if this deceased Lanklyn was better at his job than his ensign. From her past experiences with Baras’ contacts, she’s come to expect a higher level of competence than that. Slinte is not very impressive.

Quinn’s examining the map of the Starship Graveyard, occasionally dropping a pin on the holo to mark locations that she assumes must be important. “I’m uncertain if we’ll be able to pinpoint when the weapons exchange will occur,” he tells her, “There’s not enough information here for me to make an accurate guess. What are your orders?”

“ _My_ orders?” she clarifies, confused, “Quinn, I said you’re in charge. You tell me what we need to do, and I’ll do it. I don’t have any experience with leading this sort of thing. You _do_. What are _your_ orders?”

There’s a second where she’s not sure what he’s going to do. A second where she thinks that he’ll insist on deferring to her, even though it doesn’t make sense. Then the moment’s gone and he takes control, sliding into the role of command as though he was made for it, “Very well, my lord. I think it would be best if we got the rest of the crew on this mission.”

“Of course,” she says, easily taking the back seat in this mission, “I’ll holo them as soon as possible.”

He points out a series of locations on the holo, his finger tracing a path from the _Vehement_ _Sword_ to the nearest Republic base, “That’s almost certainly the route the Republic recovery team will use when transporting the cannons away from the Starship Graveyard. If we aren’t able to intercept the actual deal, then we should plan to ambush the transport caravans. Null Cannons are large and heavy, the Republic forces will be stuck with slow ground transport until they’ve reached Aurek Base.”

“Is it worth trying to salvage the Null Cannons?” she asks, considering the weapons in Imperial hands.

“If we take the cannons, then we’re stuck with the same transportation issue that the Republic will face,” he reminds her, “I believe the best course of action would be to take a reading of their schematics before destroying them. Our job is to remove the Null Cannons from the Republic’s arsenal. Our scientists can piece together the schematics later.”

So they’re planning an ambush. She can do that, “Can we commandeer any of the Imperial soldiers here? There’s no way we can attack and defeat a Republic convoy alone, not if they’re armed, not if they’re guarded by a Jedi who _will_ see a fight coming.”

He gives her an incredulous look, “You’re a Sith Lord. You don’t need permission to reassign troops.”

“Oh,” She supposes she _can_ do that. Having this level of power is still not quite something she’s used to, “good.”

“Have Lieutenant Pierce take a squad of the troopers here and run a reconnaissance mission,” he continues, pointing out the location of the possible ambush, “Ask Vette if she has any contacts who might know Captain Sero.”

She doubts it, but she’ll try. Vette has always had friends in strange places, “Alright. I can have Jaesa look into the force, see if her gift can reveal any more information.”

“An excellent idea, my lord,” he agrees, “The more we know, the better.”

“Then I’ll get the crew down here right away,” Gimrizh says, already retrieving her holo. So much for having a few weeks of downtime. War doesn’t allow for rest, apparently. Not that she’s particularly complaining. She’s beginning to think that she’s just not meant for a life of inactivity.

~*~

Foris pulls out a pair of macrobinoculars and starts inspecting the wreckage of the _Vehement Sword_.

It’s relatively abandoned, not much activity around the crash site. Probably not a very safe area to be in. Not a lot of pirates would risk more danger than they have to when there are easier ships for the picking all around this bloody graveyard. There are a few groups of pirates patrolling the edges of the ship. Nothing too difficult to handle, but trouble all the same. Likely just there to make sure that another pirate gang doesn’t show up and stake a claim themselves.

There’s only one path that the Republic could take to transport those Null Cannons. To the east of the _Vehement Sword_ is the massive _Star of Coruscant_ , and there’s no way they get cannons past that superdreadnaught. To the north and south are pirate camps, ice ridges, and even mountain ranges a bit farther on. Can’t lug cannons up a mountain. The Empire’s camped out to the south-east, so the Republic’s got to go south-west. There’s a tiny pub outpost far past the Starship Graveyard, they’ll probably head that direction to touch base before moving towards the main Republic outpost on Hoth.

There’s not much cover in that direction though, it’s just miles of open and unprotected snow fields. Got no cover, no terrain to work with. Bad for the Republic, bad for them too. The path the Republic will follow dips into a flat valley between the graveyard and the pub’s outpost. That’ll be the place for an ambush.

Once the Republic’s out in the open, stuck in the middle of that wide space, then they can attack. Foris is thinking dropships might do the trick. Something to keep an element of surprise, and dropships aren’t big enough to carry a Null Cannon, so there’s no chance of the Republic stealing one for themselves.

“Dorn Base’s got dropships, yeah?” Foris asks.

His recon partner is a spindly Chiss who can make his way through a snowdrift like he was born in the ice. It’s a handy skill. Foris likes the guy. “Yes,” the Chiss confirms.

Sounds good. Foris ducks down behind the wall of ice that they’re using for cover and pulls out his holo.

Regrettably the one to answer his call is the captain, “Lieutenant, report.”

“There’s a couple miles of flatland that the Republic’s going to have to cross to get those cannons into their territory,” Foris explains, “we can hit ‘em there. Wait till they’re out in the open, get some dropships filled with soldiers in.”

“That should be possible,” the captain says, “Have you found anything concerning when the Republic should be making the deal?”

Of course they haven't, there’s almost nothing they can do on a recon mission. Not unless the captain wants to change the specs of Foris’s task. “No. We can nab a pirate, press him, get some info that way. Not sure if the boss would be alright with that, though. She doesn’t normally hold for that sort of thing.”

“Lord Gimrizh has placed me in command of this operation,” Quinn says haughtily, “you have permission for a capture and interrogation mission.”

“Right,” Foris grits out, pisssed off that the boss would put Quinn in charge, even apparently above her. She trusts the captain with far more power than Foris would give to anyone. One day, Foris is going to find out what Quinn is hiding. He knows there’s something up, but he’ll have to prove it to the boss without a shred of doubt for her to believe him. He doesn’t know how much it’ll take to rattle the boss’s faith in Quinn.

“Report back when you’ve found something,” Quinn says before cutting the call.

Alright, recon is over. They’ve got a new objective now. Foris tucks the holo away and peers over the edge again, trying to see if there’s a group of pirates that’ll be easy to hit and capture without drawing attention to what they’re doing. Cracking someone can take time, which they might not have, and he doesn’t want to hasten that by attracting a bunch more fucking pirates while he’s working.

“Three targets,” the Chiss informs him in a voice that’s almost colder than the snow, “Near the exhaust port guardpost.”

Foris moves the macrobinoculars to see where he’s talking about. Sure enough, there are three pirates hanging around a poorly stocked guardpost. It’s behind one of the massive ship’s exhaust ports, a huge wall of durasteel that’ll cover them from view while they extract the targets. “That’ll do it,” he agrees.

The two abandon their position and skirt the edge of the ice wall, moving closer towards the wreckage of the _Vehement Sword_. It’s slow going as they have to keep their movements from being noticed, moving from one covered position to another, sometimes having to stop and wait it out to avoid detection.

At last they’re within spitting distance of the three targeted pirates.

Foris and his Chiss compatriot hide in an snow ditch maybe a hundred paces from the exhaust ports, hidden from the pirates’ view. They both set their blasters to stun. Foris is working with a rifle meant more for close quarters work, while the Chiss is using a sniper’s gun with an advanced sight on it.

They both fire at the same time, the Chiss hitting two, while Foris hits one.

The pirates hit the ground without putting up a fuss and they hop over to the guardpost to grab their score. The Chiss might be a damn good shot with a blaster, but he’s maybe half of Foris’s size, so Foris ends up carrying two out of the three pirates on his shoulder while his fellow carries the last one out of there.

Dragging their captives back a safe spot is harder, but not impossible. They’re unable to get up the mountain they were perched on before so instead they get far enough away from the graveyard that sound won’t carry and bunker in behind the towering ice and rocks. The three pirates get dropped against the ice wall and are quickly clapped in binders. Then they wait for their captives to wake up.

It doesn’t take too long.

The first one to regain consciousness is shortly joined by his two fellows, until all three are slowly blinking and looking around. At first it seems like they don’t know what’s going on, with Foris purposely looming in front of them and the Chiss lurking in the background. _That’s_ when they start to panic.

“What’s-” one starts, tugging on his binders with a terrified look in his eyes.

“You three work for Captain Sero,” Foris begins, “he’s making a deal with the Republic to hand over the Null Cannon prototypes. I want to know when and with whom.”

The pirates glance nervously at each other before one of them insists, “We don’t know a damn thing-”

“I want to know when and with whom,” he repeats, calmly. He’s the one in control here, and these pirates aren’t going to topple that. They’re criminals, sure, but they aren’t military and at the end of the day they’re basically glorified civilians toting around blasters. They aren’t much of a threat in his book.

“Fuck you,” one mutters.

All right. That one first. Foris draws his blaster and shoots him right in the head.

Both pirates left alive freeze as their dead friend slides to the ground. Then they start scrambling, trying to rip their blinders off, trying to move away, get away, anything that doesn’t end up in them being dead too.

“We don’t know anything!” the older of the two repeats, his voice high pitched, panicked, “We’re just dumb muscle - don’t know nothing! I’ve never even heard of a Sero or -”

Foris shoots him next.

He points the barrel of his blaster straight at the last remaining pirate. “I want to know when Sero is handing the cannons over to the Republic, and who his contact is,” he repeats.

If this doesn’t get the pirate to talk, then Foris will stun the man and haul him back to Dorn Base for a more intense interrogation. He’s not going to kill the last pirate he has, that’s just stupid, not when he knows a dozen more torture techniques. But the pirate doesn’t know that. That’s the whole point of what Foris just did. As far as this man is concerned, Foris will kill him without hesitation if he refuses to talk. After all, he just watched Foris kill both his companions in a mere minute .

The pirate cracks - “I- Tomorrow!” he sobs, almost frenzied with fear, “The deal’s primeday! I don’t know more specific than that, I don’t, honest! Sero’s working with some Jedi - I never got the name - she never told us a name - I swear, I don’t have her name!”

“Thanks,” Foris says.

He shoots him too.

No point in lugging around a body that he don’t need to, and no reason to let the guy go. He got what he came for.

~*~

Jaesa sits on the floor of Dorn Base, her eyes closed, her thoughts elsewhere. The freezing chill of the metal base soaks into her clothes and through her skin, but it can’t touch her in her heart, a warm cocoon of the force wrapping itself around her. A few feet away, she can feel Vette. Her friend is sitting nearby, working on a blaster improvement. Just existing nearby is enough to allow Jaesa a surface glimpse of Vette’s feelings.

She can sense a blanket of contentment thrown over everything despite an underlying turmoil. Out of respect, she moves on without looking deeper.

Like water running over stones, she can the flickers of sentience that dot Dorn Base. She doesn’t stop on any of them, just doing a brief sweep for familiarity. And as a river flows into an ocean, her eye gets tugged towards the training bond she shares with her master. Gimrizh is a flurry of tightly reined in thoughts and emotions, and all Jaesa can sense from her master at first glance is a surface thought, a brief glimpse of a map and ideas of where to put soldiers. Jaesa doesn’t linger. It seems rude to spy on her master.

She casts her awareness farther out, running gently over thousands of people on that cluster around the bases and outposts that can sustain life. A number of strange sentients are scattered across the wastes. A second glance reveals them to be Talz, their thoughts and emotional patterns unusual to her. She steps even farther away and finds the Republic.

This _is_ familiar to her, almost too much so. A number of Jedi are posted on Hoth, bright flares of light that stand against the pirates and villains of this world like torches stand against the dark. The Jedi are painful for her to approach, now that she’s touched the dark side of the force. She hasn’t fallen, not in the sense of the word that she knows best, but she’s closer than she used to be and getting too close to the minds of the Jedi causes a ripple of guilt to flare up in herself.

So she moves on. She drifts through a hive of Republic minds that she guesses is Aurek Base. A number of emotions ping on her radar but as she sifts through them she finds nothing pertaining to their mission.

She’s considering moving away from the Republic and towards the pirate gangs that roam the wastes of Hoth when she finds something.

In a field of everyday emotions and mild force sensitivity, this is like finding a star in a pool of candles. Whoever this person is, their mind is a massive whirlwind of power, a storm that Jaesa can’t help but look closer at. No, not a storm, a volcano. A mountain at first look, but behind the rock is lava hotter than the fires of Mustafar, powerful enough to burn Jaesa to ash if she takes so much as a single step closer.

The presence -

_\- moves -_

\- turns to Jaesa -  

\- an eye focusing on her -

 _What are you doing in my mind_?

The force of this person’s mind - a woman, it’s a woman with eyes that see right through her - it almost _crushes_ her, flattens her just by existing. Jaesa tries to pull back, to flee, but the woman doesn’t let her, holding her in place effortlessly while Jaesa struggles in the mental grip.

 _Please_ , Jaesa sends, trying to breathe, _I didn’t mean to._

The woman doesn’t relent, keeps trying to burn into Jaesa’s mind through the connection that she unwittingly established with her foolish curiosity, _Who are you?_

 _Jaesa Willsaam_ \- _I’m nobody important - this is just an accident -_

 _Jaesa Willsaam_ , the woman muses, and then presses deeper into her head. A thousand images are dragged up through Jaesa’s mind, Master Karr calling her a foolish child, herself traipsing after Giselle Organa back on Alderaan, her master standing perplexedly in front of her asking if she wants to fall to the dark side - Vette laughing, smiling, sitting in a cantina promising her that being Jaesa Willsaam would be _enough_ -

 _No_ , Jaesa cries, ripping at the connection, _not that, don’t you dare!_

 _Interesting_ , the woman thinks before snapping the link and pulling away, _how interesting_.

Jaesa withdraws from her senses and comes up for air, gasping and doubled over on the floor of Dorn Base, back in her own mind. She’s never encountered such sheer power, such a strong force of mind and will, it’s painful in a way that physical injury never can be. She feels as though she’s stared into the center of a star and blinded her eyes.

An instant after she comes reeling back, Vette’s arms are around her, “Are you okay? What happened?”

Jaesa leans into the touch. She’s still shaking all over, aftershocks of panic and fear that she has never experience with her sensory abilities before, “I found a Jedi - her mind is stronger than anything I’ve ever felt. Her mind kept from leaving, she wanted to ask me some questions - who I was.”

“That’s insane,” Vette comments, almost angry with the idea of some mysterious Jedi _demanding_ anything from Jaesa, “she’s got no right to try and force anything out of you.”

“I did intrude, although I didn’t know - I still don’t know who she is,” Jaesa admits, “I think _she’s_ who we’re supposed to be fighting.”

Vette doesn’t understand the force, or the tremendous implications of someone being capable of countering Jaesa’s unique abilities, “Is that bad?”

“Very much so, yes,” Jaesa says seriously. “I don’t know if we can fight a person like this.”

The only person who’s ever seemed so strong and so untouchable is her master, but Gimrizh is a unsteady hurricane of power. This Jedi has more sheer might behind her and the unerring focus that only true clarity of mind and purpose can bring. She _knows_ with the same certainty she knows that the sun will set, that her master _cannot_ defeat this Jedi.

~*~

Celebris lets the wayward girl rip her way free of her mental hold. It’s not worth the struggle of maintaining the connection. She’d already gathered what she needed.

So her competition on this planet is a half-mad Zabrak Sith with a ragged crew who managed to snag herself a former Jedi padawan for an apprentice. This girl, Jaesa Willsaam, Celebris remembers her. There had been a bit of a stir in the Order a while back. Nomen Karr had claimed to have discovered a padawan with a singularly unique gift and was lauding the girl as a savior of the Jedi Order. Of course, Celebris hadn’t put much stock in the rumors herself. While she would never dismiss the suggestion of a new force ability being developed, she doubted the credence that Karr gave the girl. It had appeared to her as an excuse to allow Karr free reign to chase down his most hated nemesis, Darth Baras.

It appears as though part of Karr’s assessment had indeed been correct. Jaesa Willsaam possesses an interesting and rare force gift, although the girl is still not fully trained and her abilities need honing.

Celebris sits up in bed and grabs the datapad that rests on her nightstand. Jaesa had been carrying some interesting information concerning her mission to recover the Republic’s lost Null Cannons. She starts drafting a missive to Admiral Revald, informing him that their deal has been compromised.

“Ris?” Felix murmurs, slowly waking up and blinking at her, “It’s a bit late for work, don’t you think?”

Her stylus keeps tapping out the message, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. There was a disturbance in the force.”

“Are things alright?” her love asks. He pulls himself up to wrap an arm around her shoulders, “Is it anything to worry about?”

She supposes that in the end this doesn’t change their plans. They shall walk into an ambush regardless of whether or not they change the time of the deal. This way, they keep things on their own terms. A number of days still stand between them and their effort to recover the cannons. There is time.

“No, you’re right,” she agrees, putting the datapad aside and sliding back under the blankets, “it’s nothing that can’t wait till morning.”

“Okay,” he presses a light kiss to her forehead, “Night, darling.”

She smiles, tucking her head against his chest and letting herself savor the single deviance from the Jedi code that she allows herself. Of all the times in the past that she has erred from the code, strayed from what a Jedi should be and should do, this is the only one she is unwilling to let go. There is nothing in the galaxy that she would trade Felix for and she thanks the force everyday that she can both serve the Jedi and defend the galaxy while loving him with every fibre of her being.

~*~

Malavai’s running over every detail of the operation in his head as the dropships carry them to the ambush point. He’s accounted for just about every possibility he can think of, including this mysterious Jedi that Jaesa claims to have encountered. The mission has a good chance of success, even if the Republic _is_ aware of their attack. In the end, all they need to do is destroy the Null Cannons. Stealing the schematics for themselves and crippling the Republic are only added bonuses.

Regardless of whether or not they actually need to _defeat_ the Republic in this skirmish, Malavai refuses to allow this operation to fail. Lord Gimrizh placed him in command. He won’t fail her, and he won’t let himself fail like he did in the aftermath of Druckenwell. If all goes well, he’ll have another successful mission on his record after this is done. There’s nothing quite like planning out every aspect of a battle and watching it all fall neatly into place.

The contingent of Imperial dropships moves below the cloud layer to come above the Republic caravans.

Five massive land-based transport ships are lugging huge cannons across the valley, surrounded by Republic troopers marching alongside. There are more soldiers than he had assumed there would be, but not more than his highest estimate. Not more than they can handle. The numbers still favor them.

“Jedi,” Lord Gimrizh says bitterly. She’s standing at his side, holding onto a strap to keep her balance as the ships descend. With her free hand, she points to a number of cloaked figures at the top of the Republic convoy that he can barely see, “This will be interesting.”

Still manageable. Along with the battalion of Imperial soldiers, they’ve also been able to commandeer a group of Sith guards. None are lords, and he doubts a single one of them could hold a candle to Gimrizh, but they are miles above the average trooper and he feels confident pitting their Sith forces against the Jedi down below.

He can put Vette on the cannons, move Gimrizh and Jaesa to deal with the Jedi - it works out in their favor, “Take Jaesa and the other Sith with you to spearhead an offensive against the Jedi. Send Vette with a squad to disable and scan the cannons.”

Gimrizh nods and relays the orders through the commlink, “And you?” she asks after she’s finished.

If Pierce and his men are going to be leading the main attack, and Lord Gimrizh and Jaesa will be dealing with the Sith, then the best place for him will be a support position, “I’ll be directing the battle from the dropships, my lord,” he informs her, “Ready to provide additional direction or medical support if needed.”

Whatever she might have said in reply is lost in the roar of the engines as the dropships come to rest right in the Republic’s heads.

The battle has begun.

The Republic must have been expecting ships, their soldiers already handling oversized bolt cannons and blasting away at them before all of them have landed. Lord Gimrizh actives her lightsabers in a blur of blue and red and leaps from the ship before they touch down. Jaesa and the contingent of Sith are soon to follow, a burst of lightsaber energy that starts cutting down soldiers.

On the other side, the Jedi burst into movement, blue and green blades rushing to meet the red of the Sith. The raw power of the clash takes Malavai’s breath away.

The Empire presses it’s attack. Lieutenant Pierce and a number of Imperial squadrons rush to the forefront of the battle, spearheading an assault on the bulk of the Republic’s forces.

Once the dropships land, Malavai and a few other officers quickly blast the scattered Republic soldiers out of the way and make base around the ship. He waits until Pierce has secured the first of the Null Cannons before he gives the all clear for Vette and a team of slicers to move in to complete a scan of the weapons.

A ragtag group of pubs rushes them, thinking that they can get their hands on a ship and get out that way. It doesn’t work.

Malavai shoots one down before the pubs are even close and the rest get gunned down by the guard they’ve set up around the dropships. The rest of the Republic either learns from this little demonstration, or are too distracted by the battle to try again.

A couple of their own men get dragged back to the dropship landing, some leaving a trail of blood behind on the snow.

“Get them kolto injections and make sure their wounds are packed,” Malavai orders, tossing a medkit to one of the junior medical officers on board.

She catches the kit and cracks it open immediately, already getting to work on the nearest patient, “Yes, sir!”

He turns his attention back to the battle. Three out of the five Null Cannons have been secured for their side, and Lieutenant Pierce has already begun to place explosives on the weapons. Once Vette’s team has secured the schematics for the cannons, they can detonate the charges and remove the possibility of the Republic taking the weapons for themselves.

“Captain!” A sergeant calls out, pointing to something on the mountainside, “Pubs have got anti-aircraft cannons up there!”

Malavai has just enough time to turn his head and see a number of heavy cannons mounted up on the cliffs slowly come into view. It looks there was some sort of stealth-field generator around them, a wavy distortion in the air as the cannons appear out nowhere. Then one of them fires, a huge bolt rocketing into the center of the battle.

The cannon that Vette’s standing on explodes.

~*~

The rhythm of lightsaber combat beats through Jaesa’s bones. She watches her master’s back and fends off advancing Jedi at the same time. Her saberstaff strikes a Jedi’s blade to the side and then a second blow cuts at his knees, crippling him and bringing him down. Her master forges on, the spearhead of their group that cuts down every Jedi in their path. They function in synchrony, her master the sword that attacks and Jaesa the shield that protects.

She drops to her knees to avoid a blue blade striking at her head and then slashes up with her staff, their swords locking. Another Sith takes advantage of the Jedi’s distraction to gut him, and Jaesa’s opponent falls.

Fighting alongside other Sith is both terrifying and reassuring. As she weaves through the crowds, parrying strikes from Jedi and throwing opponents into the path of her master’s attack, she can’t help but feel scared. There’s the constant worry that being so close to so many Sith, all of whom are reaching into the force, will result in her exposure. That maybe one of them will sense her devotion to the light side in the midst of battle.

It’s also a comfort to her. She need not kill her enemies, not when she can disarm them and incapacitate. The Jedi die all the same because a second later another Sith will finish them off, but it’s not Jaesa doing the killing. It’s selfish of her. She’s relying on others doing the job that she’s uncomfortable doing. But this is the only way she gets herself through a fight like this.

The force whispers a warning to her and she follows its pointed finger to the mountainside, where a number of large cannons are suddenly revealed.

The Republic must have known they were coming - that Jedi she encountered must have plucked the information from her mind -

With a clap like thunder, a cannon goes off.

Her eyes follow the bolt in slow motion, a shell hurtling towards one of the Null Cannons with unerring accuracy. She catches sight of Vette, perched on top of the transport, and she tries to move.

There isn’t enough time.

The Null Cannon is blasted apart in a burst of fire and shrapnel.

“ _VETTE!_ ”

She can feel her friend’s pain through the force, a searing presence in her chest that wraps around her heart and stops her breath. She tries to reach into the force for some clarity - is Vette alive, please be alive, she has to be alive - but it’s not coming. Everything is a confusion of fear and agony and she can’t find her way through the force as she normally can.

Vette can’t be dead.

It’s not possible, it _cannot happen_.

Barely aware of what she’s doing, Jaesa runs. She throws a Jedi out of her path with more strength than she’s had before and she doesn’t _care_ , none of it matters, all that matters is _Vette_. This fight, this skirmish is nothing compared to Vette’s life.

Behind her, her master screams at her, “Jaesa! Wait!”

She ignores it.

Her job in a fight is to protect her master’s back, to play the role of vanguard. But her master doesn’t need it, her master is strong and powerful and can stand alone without a shield. Vette needs her. It’s not even a choice. She doesn’t have to think about it, consider the options. The decision was made a long time ago. She chooses Vette.

The Republic _knew_ about the ambush, they had time to plan a counter attack, time to hide cannons in the cliffs and cover them with stealth-field generators. They knew because the Jedi knew. Because that woman got it from Jaesa’s mind. _Jaesa_ is the reason the Republic knew about the attack, the reason they shot down the Null Cannons, the reason Vette’s -

If Vette dies because of a stupid mistake Jaesa made -

Her saberstaff cuts down a Republic trooper that tries to stand in her way. She pushes her way through the wreckage of the Null Cannon, throws herself over a crashed speeder, and follows the force to Vette.

Vette’s lying on the ground, blood trickling from her prone body, but her chest is rising and that means she’s still _alive_. Her eyes flicker open and find Jaesa’s, latching onto them.

“Vette,” Jaesa gasps, dropping down into the snow and trying to find an injury, something that she can do, someway to stop the blood, “Oh stars, I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry-”

A thin line of red runs down Vette’s lips, blood and spittle and dirt and snow, “Not-” she rasps out, “Not your fault.”

This _is_ her fault, it’s all her fault, she did _this_ to Vette.

“I’m going to save you,” she promises, “You won’t die, I swear it!”

She grabs the force and wraps it around Vette’s body, keeping her frozen, unwilling to let her injuries exacerbate. The force lifts Vette up and Jaesa wraps her arms around her friend. She can feel every one of Vette’s heartbeats, every twitch of her pulse, every breath that runs raggedly through her lungs. Every drop of blood that falls and soaks into the snow.

Jaesa staggers towards the dropships, her world narrowed down to the girl in her arms and the promise that just ahead is medical care, just ahead is salvation.

A small contingent of medical troops led by Captain Quinn are holding the dropships. There’s a squad of Republic troops attacking, a firefight that is _in the way_.

As Jaesa makes her way closer, she pushes out with the force. Every Republic trooper goes flying, thrown from her path and out of Vette’s way. It used to be difficult for her to wield the force in this manner. Now, it is easy. She just reaches, picks the enemies up, and tosses them to the side. They will not stand between her and Vette’s aid.

Captain Quinn is the first one to approach her, rushing to her side, “What -” he tries to say.

“Help her,” Jaesa begs, almost sobbing the words, “please, you have to - you have to save her. She can’t die, you have to help her, _please_ , this is all my fault -”

He glances down at Vette’s body and she knows that there’s no love lost between the two of them. But he does as she asks anyways. Quinn leads her through to one of the ships and has her put Vette down on a medical gurney inside the shelter.

“Vette will be fine,” he assures her, grabbing a thin IV needle and inserting it into Vette’s arm before hooking her up to a kolto drip. Jaesa isn’t fully sure what he does, she’s no medic, but she can feel Vette’s pain in the force slowly ebb away, replaced by a medically induced calm that numbs the injuries.

Quinn pushes Vette’s thin mesh armour out of the way and grabs a sharp looking appliance from a medkit. Jaesa watches with bated breath as he slowly removes thin shards of bloody metal shrapnel from Vette’s torso. She clutches at Vette’s hand, a lifeline for her.

Oh stars. She could have been responsible for the death of her closest friend. Vette could have died. The shell could have hit the cannon slightly closer to Vette or a Republic soldier could have arrived to finish her off. What would she _do_ if she got Vette killed? The realization hits Jaesa that without Vette’s careless smile, there is precious little left for her to fall back on.

What a terrible excuse for a Jedi she is. All their talk of forbidding attachment and Jaesa’s more attached to a thieving spacer than she’s ever been to any master or to any code.

Quinn finished removing the shrapnel and patches up Vette’s main injuries. He wraps her right leg in a splint, and then administers another painkiller, “Given time and rest, I expect she will make a full recovery. There’s only so much I can do for her in the field,” he admits, “but I can do more once we’re back at base.”

Of course, he’s supposed to be in command of this mission and she dragged him away from the battle for an emergency field surgery. Another burst of selfishness hits her. “Thank you,” she says honestly, her fingers wrapped tightly around Vette’s, “I owe you a great debt.”

“Stay with her,” he tells her, refusing to acknowledge whatever she may or may not owe him, “I must return to the battle.”

The captain steps out of the ship, leaving Jaesa to curl over Vette’s unconscious form and wonder- is this what falling feels like?

~*~

“Get those pub scumbags off our fucking cannons!” Foris barks through his comms as the second Null Cannon goes up in flames.

They’ve got all five cannons primed to blow when they want, but this is _not_ when they want at all and they still haven’t secured the secondary objective of gaining the weapon schematics. He wants to blow the cannons up in the Republic’s faces and he can’t _do_ that if they blow them up first, damn it.

He’s got his back to a Null Cannon, his sides covered by some damn decent fellow soldiers, and his hands around the handle of an assault blaster-rifle. They open fire into a crowd of pubs. It’s hell on his side of the fight. Gimrizh can fuck about with those fancy lightsabers all she wants to, but a fight between force users is a pretty thing, half death and all showmanship. This is real war, gunning down your enemies while they try and gun you down at the same time.

Foris ducks under a transport to take cover from a burst of blaster fire. He pegs two pubs in the legs while he’s down and then shoots them in the head once they fall.

This whole thing has been a fucking disaster - they can’t keep fighting while the Republic’s got those gigantic fucking guns up on the mountain. They’re lucky that they haven’t fired into the main battle yet. Probably the Republic doesn’t want to kill any of their own men with crowd shots, resorting to just taking down the Null Cannons that the Empire’s already taken for themselves. There’s another blast - one of their dropships is blasted apart and a dozen good men die in the explosion.

Foris swears and blasts a group of pubs apart in his anger.

Someone at the front of his squad screams. “The fucking hells is it now?” Foris demands, snarling and turning to see what the hell is making a scene.

Past the skirmish between his forces and the Republic, past the clash between the Sith and the Jedi, something new is approaching. At first, it almost looks like a shadow moving across the snow, and then it gains form, gains clarity. It’s another fucking battalion.

Foris has never seen such a strange coalition before - hulking Balmorran battle droids scuttling over the snow, Republic troopers marching alongside a squad of krething _Voss_ commandos - how the fuck did _Voss_ get involved? He’s not even sure what the monstrous looking group of sentients that stalk the edges of the new battalion _are_ \- they remind him of Esh-kha, but that’s got to be _impossible_.

There’s a team at the front of the battalion, led by a Jedi woman that he recognizes from Republic propaganda and oh _fuck_ \- those _are_ Esh-kha -

The Rift Alliance Coalition Forces have arrived.

~*~

Jaesa feels the presence get closer, closer, closer, like a drumbeat fast approaching, shaking the earth as it moves.

She glances back at a sleeping Vette and moves to the door of the dropship. At the edge of the fight is an amassing battalion moving slowly and surely across the wastes, and at the helm is the Jedi that trapped Jaesa in her mind.

Oh stars.

 _She’s here_.

They can’t fight her, they just can’t. Jaesa could never stand in the path of someone like that, and she doesn’t think her master can either.

 _Master_!

She screams across their weak training bond and can only watch as at the head of the battle, Gimrizh removes her blades from a dead Jedi’s corpse and turns toward the new threat, the Jedi woman, a lone figure in the face of a crushing force of nature. If her master fights that Jedi she will die. It’s just a fact.

_You can’t fight her! Please, run!_

~*~

Gimrizh cuts down the nearest Jedi in her path and gasps as she feels the force shift. Both her blades plunge into an approaching enemy and then she tugs them out, flipping the hilts around in her hands. She turns to watch as a new army breaks upon their battleground like a sea crushes the ground beneath it.

The Sith rush to meet this new force head-on.

Leading the enemy forces is a woman that cuts through the soul of Gimrizh. She’s not large or imposing, but she’s stately. Untouchable. _Regal_. Her dark skin and flowing robes stand out against the white snow of Hoth and her long hair halos around a face stern as rock and harder than durasteel. In her hand is a brilliant blue saberstaff that casts a sharp light across her features, illuminating the harshness of her.

Gimrizh doesn’t move as she hears the cries of her apprentice ripple through her mind, just watches as a fellow Sith tries to rush the Jedi.

There’s a flash of blue on red and then the Jedi plunges her staff through his heart. An instant kill. No incapacitation. No pleas for surrender. No hesitation. No mercy. Gimrizh has never met a Jedi like her before.

Her army shatters the Imperial forces, cutting through them with ease, and she watches as this new woman slices through her enemies without pause.

So this is the person who scares Jaesa. How dare this woman terrorize her apprentice so? Gimrizh feels a snarl building in the back of her throat and she spins her blades, kicking up snow and ice and dirt. One stride closer to the Jedi and she _freezes_.

Calm as anything, the woman turns to face Gimrizh. It’s not a challenge, not a glare, just a look. A sort of ‘ _I know you_ ’ that pierces straight through her. Acknowledgement, perhaps. And quick as lightning, the Jedi turns her attention towards Gimrizh.

She can feel the brunt of her presence cut her down, not even using the force to attack, just stretching out in the force and _existing_. The simple act of _existence_ is enough to make Gimrizh take a hesitant step back. The Jedi is like a krayt dragon, one who walks in the wastes without fear for none are strong enough to stand against her, someone who breathes lightning and brings a storm in the wake of her wings. She stares at Gimrizh and it’s like being caught in the jaws of a massive beast.

This Jedi will kill her without a second thought.

It would be easy.

“Retreat,” Gimrizh whispers into her commlink. Her hearts begin to race with fear and she can feel her pulse go wild beneath her skin, “Retreat!”

She turns and _runs_ because her very life depends on it.

~*~

“Take off!” Lieutenant Pierce yells as he leaps onto the dropship.

Malavai does a quick head count, Vette and Jaesa in the back, a few ragtag Sith and troopers who haven’t already left rushing back on board. The other ships around them are already starting to take off. Theirs is the last ship on the ground, the rest in the air or in ruins on the ground. There’s one person still missing though, “Lord Gimrizh hasn’t made it back yet - we’re not leaving without her,” Malavai says firmly. “Detonate the Null Cannons.”

“Fine!” Pierce snaps, activating the remote detonator.

The last three cannons left explode in a ball of fire and smoke, kicking up a cloud of ash and snow that obscure his view of the battlefield.

“We’re running out of time!” Pierce says, looking like he wants to shoot Malavai, “If we don’t leave now, we’re not going to make it!”

There’s no way in hells that Malavai is leaving without Lord Gimrizh safely aboard this ship. This entire operation has just collapsed around them, he refuses to allow another failure. He won’t leave Gimrizh to be captured or killed by the Jedi. He refuses to allow Gimrizh to die, “We hold! That’s an order!”

“ _\- off -_ “ Her voice comes in through the commlinks, a static burst through the speakers, “ _Take off! I’m on my way_!”

Pierce glares at him, “You heard her,” he says furiously, “Take. Off.”

Damn it. Malavai can’t disobey a direct order. He just has to trust that his lord has a plan - if he knows her, she’ll be doing her damndest to survive. He gives the order. The engines start to lift the ship up, swerving to the side to avoid a Republic bolt that explodes a mere few feet behind them. As they lift off, he’s already regretting the decision he made. She put him in charge of this mission after all, he could have used that to disobey the command and wait for her to arrive.

They’re almost ten feet off the ground when he can see Gimrizh running through the snow and smoke towards the ship.

She jumps off a fallen speeder and leaps for the dropship. Malavai drops to his knees and reaches his hand out, and just as he thinks that maybe she’s not going to make it, her hand grabs his and he has her. She’s safe.

The ship flies away from the battle. Malavai pulls her inside the ship’s hull and then stays by her side as she gasps for breath. Thank the force she made it. He’s… actually not certain what he would have done in the event of her death.

Normally, if his commanding officer died in the field, he would be transferred to a different post and that would be that. This isn’t a normal posting though. What would Baras think if Malavai allowed her to die under his watch? What would Baras do? And what would Malavai himself do? If she were anyone else he would care remarkably little, but he finds that the mere thought of her dying is almost unbearable. When did he allow himself to become so attached? It’s not professional, and it shouldn’t be acceptable, and he finds that he wouldn’t change a single thing if given the chance.

“I-” Gimrizh rasps, “I failed.”

No, she didn’t fail, the failure falls entirely on Malavai’s shoulders. “You succeeded in your goal to prevent the Republic from gaining the Null Cannon prototypes,” he reminds her, “Everything else, the schematics, defeating the Republic soldiers, those were superfluous. You fulfilled your primary objective, my lord.”

Gimrizh stares out at the battlefield that’s rapidly diminishing as they retreat, “I was terrified - I still am. That woman - that Jedi - I’ve never met a Jedi like that before. She’s stronger than I thought Jedi could be.”

“A minor miscalculation,” he assures her, “You’re alive, we’re alive. You haven’t failed, my lord.”

Her fingers wrap tightly around his hand - he hadn’t even noticed that she’s still holding on, “I am so sorry for all this,” she says quietly, “I should have known. I should have believed Jaesa when she warned me, I should have kept a closer eye on the force and listened for -”

“You did _not_ fail,” he tells her, allowing no room for negotiation, “I swear to you, my lord, this is just a minor setback. _Nothing_ more. We will recover from this, all of us. That Jedi will not always stand in your way and I know that the next time you meet, you will be stronger than she is.”

There’s a pause where he thinks that she’s going to argue the point again. Then she sighs and let’s it go for now, “Alright. I trust you.”

He wishes she hadn’t said that. She shouldn’t trust him, he’s spying on her for Baras for fuck’s sake, he’s only working for her because she works for Baras and because Baras ordered him onto her ship in the first place. If she knew the truth, she’d never trust him again. She’d despise him. That shouldn’t bother him and yet it does. It isn’t as though he’s disloyal to her, he’ll serve her faithfully for as long as she requires it of him. It’s just that he serves Baras first and he’s concerned that at some point those two loyalties will contradict each other.

This was only ever supposed to be a simple task Baras gave him. Keep an eye on her and report back. Make sure she stays loyal. He wasn’t supposed to care about her. That was never something he factored in.

~*~

Vette slowly comes to.

The bright lights of _Horizon_ ’s medbay are annoyingly white, almost blinding her as soon as she wakes up. Her entire krething body hurts like a bitch. There’s a needle going into her arm that’s attached to a bag full of acid green kolto periodically dripping down into the tube. She can’t move much either, but she manages to wriggle her fingers a bit and turn her head.

Sitting next to her, looking almost asleep, is Jaesa. A smile creeps onto Vette’s face and she mutters, “Hey.”

Jaesa’s eyes snap open and her entire face seems to relax in relief as she sees Vette, “Oh, _Vette_ ,” she says, sounding like she’s never been so happy in her life, “Thank the force you’re awake.”

“Surprise,” Vette manages what’s supposed to be a light tone of voice, “I’m not dead.”

And then Jaesa’s hugging her and sobbing and _oh_.

So this is what it feels like. Vette’s always wondered what the hype is about. It’s not earth-shattering or scary or anything big and bombastic. It’s like a sigh. A tingly happiness that spreads through her.

It’s just a warm, comforting feeling of - _Oh. It’s you_.  _You’re the one I’ve been looking for_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So two new ships have been added; Risha/Zirin and Felix/Celebris, let me know what you think of them! Also, a pirate ship called Torrent? I love stupid puns, can you tell?  
> A note about the timelines: as swtor is really inconsistent about when shit happens, I've taken some liberties. Gimrizh and Zirin's storylines are happening concurrently, and as mentioned in the last chapter, Thutrel is taking a canon plot break after the JK Hoth arc to help out with the war. Celebris has been jetting around the galaxy, doing the JC plot line hella fast and has already finished the Voss arc. None of the Correlia arcs have happened yet.  
> A note about ship names: Zirin refers to his ship as 'the Torrent' whereas everyone else does without the 'the'. Using a 'the' is something that only really famous/historical ships do, or pirates who want to sound pretentious but actually end up sounding a bit silly. I'm unsure if the Millenium Falcon's use of this is intentional or not but eh  
> As always, I'm on tumblr @semper-draca and I'm so thirsty for attention, feel free to come on and chat with me anytime ~


	13. Mind Games

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took me a while, I was stuck at a house with no wifi for two weeks.  
> Shoutout to FallenAscendant!  
> This chapter, aka: 'fuck it, let's go on vacation', Gay Shit, and Quinn realizes human privilege exists.

Syo Bakarn, First Son of the immortal Sith Emperor, chokes on his own blood.

How could he - he had been so close - just when he had finally emerged from behind the mask of the patient Jedi master -

And he has _plans_. He has plans for Corellia, to bring the Republic to its knees, to at long last step into the darkness and drive the Jedi Order back to their bolt holes on Tython. He would have taken his place amongst the Sith. He would have driven the last of the light from his mind, fully taking over as the Sith he was always meant to be, removing the final piece of his weaker self from his thoughts.

“I am sorry that it has come to this,” Celebris says calmly, even as she drives the blue of her saber another inch deeper into his chest.

How did she find out - how could she have known - he has been so _careful_ \- always hiding behind the Jedi always the second and most hidden part of himself -

Only a month ago, she had been victorious on Hoth and then before that, Voss, and he had thought that next she would turn to another battlefield of the war and he would be free to make his move on Corellia. Where had he gone wrong, where did he make his mistake, where did he fail in his assumption that she would pass over him again as she had a thousand times before? When did she even leave Hoth and turn back to Tython?

When did she discover his deepest and most well kept secret?

Some small part of him is proud of her, the brightest and most promising padawan he has seen in years. He remembers seeing her as a young padawan arriving on Tython. He had wondered then, what would this brilliant woman go on to do? What could she become? How strong could she be, if pushed?

He’s always watched as she blew through every obstacle in her path. Now, he can only feel pride as she passes his final test.

At last she sees through him.

She pulls her blade from his flesh and stands impassively as he falls to his knees, “I had the highest respect for you, Master Syo. Had you not fallen, you could have been a great master for a number more years.”

“Falling -” he coughs out, blood pooling in his lungs and slowing his breathing, “- it’s such a misleading word. I never - never fell - I _drowned_ \- drowned in the dark side - always - always a force pressing it’s weight on me - pulling me into the deep - you do not yet know the _depths_ the dark side can offer. I die - I die _myself_ \- a Sith to the end - only you now can see through the shadows to the heart of me, and it is a dark thing indeed.”

Her face is as hard as carven stone, “Sith though you may be, you did many a great deed for the Jedi and the Republic, even if it were only an act. It brings me no pleasure to strike you down.”

“Does it?” he asks, choking on the last word.

“Sith use their pleasure to fuel their depravity,” she replies, “I will not stoop so low.”

Such a hardened thing she is - durasteel to her core. Whatever stands in her path shall be crushed beneath the force of her, just as Syo was crushed by the power of the Emperor. “You are - are meant for war, my friend - what shall you do when it ends?”

She keeps the tip of her saber low to the ground, not wavering, on her guard but not threatening him. She doesn’t need to. He’s lost. “I do not know. My visions end a month from now. We - I - am approaching a null point after which I can see nothing and sense no more from the force. Shall this war _ever_ end?”

He says nothing, but a gurgle of bloodied laughter escapes him - because that is his whole _point_ \- the point of his work for the Emperor - endless war and the glory of the Sith and if she’s right - and when is she wrong? - then he will have succeeded anyways.

And that’s how Syo Bakarn dies, blood on his lips and pride eating at his heart.

~*~

Gimrizh steps into her master’s chambers on Dromund Kaas like she’s marching towards a death sentence. The cold metal of Baras’ lightsaber is clutched tightly between her fingers and cutting into her palms. Her hope is that he will be pleased enough by the return of his lightsaber that he will overlook her failure on Hoth. She’s delayed this for a while, waited a month to return to Dromund Kaas, making the excuse that Vette’s injuries wouldn’t allow travel even when a few days in a kolto tank left Vette with nothing more than a few sprains and minor cuts. She just doesn’t want to face Baras.

She’s never failed him before. It’s a great unknown. What will he do? How will he punish this failing of hers? At least on Korriban, she knew the punishments. Something minor resulted in electrocution and complete failure ended up in the acolyte disappearing. She’d been electrocuted a number of times, although she’d always been good enough to avoid being sent to the slave camps. But she has succeeded at every mission Darth Baras put before her, until now, and she has no past experiences to base her assumptions on.

Apparently, he’s not going to make it easy for her. His office is cold and his masked face doesn’t move away from her as she enters and kneels.

“Master,” she says, as quietly and humbly as she can. She holds out his lightsaber, “I completed the task you set me.”

The force plucks his blade from her hands and carries it over to Baras. He examines the weapon and ignites it. A bright red beam emerges from the hilt. He gives it an experimental swing, “It has been a long time since I lost this weapon. Did you experience much difficulty in retrieving it? I understand that Hoth pirates can be… troublesome.”

His words are painfully sarcastic, he knows all too well that she would have suffered no hardship in dealing with mere pirates, “No, master.”

“So then you suffered no personal injuries? No loss of limb? I can see you still have most of your appendages intact,” He’s setting her up to fail, the bastard.

She keeps her face and emotions neutral as she replies just how he wants her to, “No, master.”

Baras lets the axe fall, “Then I fail to see how you suffered such an embarrassing defeat at the hands of the Republic,” he crosses his arms and paces in front of her, his footsteps hard and sharp against the floor, “I allow you a great deal of freedom, my apprentice. You own a ship I gave you, you have a crew because I permit it, you are given leave to traipse around the galaxy at my volition. Do you know why I let you do as you wish with so few restrictions?”

This isn’t going anywhere good, “I am eternally grateful for all you have done for me, master,” she says, hoping to appease him somewhat.

“I asked you a question,” he says harshly, “Why do you think I let you do as you wish?”

There are a thousand answers and she can’t see the right one. Saying that he knows she serves the Empire is no good, because that implies that she doesn’t serve _him_. Similarly, claiming that he gives her freedom so that she can do as he bids would lean towards pointless bootlicking, and she has a feeling he is not in the mood to indulge that today.

Honestly, she thinks he gives her freedom because he doesn’t particularly care what she does with her spare time. Allowing her to jet around the galaxy is easier than keeping her under lock and key on Dromund Kaas. It gives her the ability to go to great lengths to serve him while giving her an illusion of free will.

“I don’t know, master,” she says instead.

He taps his fingers against his desk, a pointed few inches away from the jar containing Tremel’s hand. A reminder of what will happen to her if she crosses him, “When you galavant around systems, you carry my name with you. When you succeed, ‘Darth Baras’ apprentice’ succeeds. When you fail, ‘Darth Baras’ apprentice’ fails. Do you understand why I cannot allow failure, or is this too difficult a concept for you?”

She lowers her head, deepening her bow before him, “I understand, master. I am sincerely sorry for my failure on Hoth. The blame is mine alone and I shall not fail you again.”

“You are young,” he says condescendingly, “and inexperienced. I will allow you a second chance to make amends.”

One more chance is all she’ll need. She hates him and she can never cross him because he holds her entire life in his hands. So she won’t fail again. She’ll do as he says and complete every task he gives her and she’ll stay alive. “Yes, master. Thank you.”

“You are lucky I am so forgiving,” he tells her, “Here is your next assignment. House Thul of Alderaan is attending a diplomatic summit. You are to serve as bodyguard to their representative. I trust this will not be too difficult?”

It’s an assignment that’s supposed to cut her down to size, remind her of her place. Instead, she’s grateful for it. Alderaan is the most beautiful place she has ever been and returning there will be no hardship for her. She’s looking forward to taking a break from the war, to be able to somewhat relax in such a gorgeous place. Of course, she doesn’t let Baras sense that, instead wrapping her thoughts up and burying them, allowing him to sense nothing but neutrality and mild resentment from her. That’s what he’ll be expecting to sense.

“I will do as you ask,” she agrees.

Baras turns away from her, “I will send further instructions to your ship. Don’t fail me again, apprentice. Dismissed.”

She backs out of his office. As soon as the door shuts behind her, she lets the grin she’s been holding back spread across her face.

Alderaan. She’s going back to Alderaan.

The majesty of that snow capped world is about to be within sight soon. And all she has to do while there is be a bodyguard? Baras thinks he’s punishing her, but he might as well have just given her vacation time. He thinks he’s played her and instead she’s played him. It’ll never last and yet it’s so wonderful to just savor the moment of freedom.

She came out of that without being electrocuted or being killed, she’ll call this an unqualified success.

She takes a taxi from the Citadel to one of the markets that caters towards the military. There are a number of sections to the Kaas City markets, some are enclosed, some are open-air, and they all cater towards a different clientele. While she reported to her master, she sent her crew to restock _Horizon_ and so this is where she’ll find them.

The rain comes down in a light drizzle, thin and light compared to the thunderstorms and heavy downpours that are all too common on this planet. Gimrizh manages to avoid the worst of the rain as she makes her way through the plaza, ducking under waterproof stall canopies and overhead walkways and speederways. There’s a faint pull on the force leading her back towards her crew, and she follows it loosely, meandering in that general direction while pausing to take a look at whatever interesting bauble catches her eye.

She follows the pull of the force to Quinn. He’s examining a table full of what a sign promises are ‘unique, _fantastical_ , and Hutt-approved’ blaster parts.

“Anything good?” she asks.

He almost drops the part he’s holding in surprise, “My lord, you’ve returned,” he takes one last look at the trigger mechanism he’s holding and puts it down, “and no, there’s nothing of interest here. Rip-offs, as far as I can tell. _That’s_ ,” he points to something she can’t identify, “an illegal blaster barrel. They were banned from civilian retail after the pins were proved to be defective. One shot and they fail.”

“How disappointing,” she comments with a smirk, “You should report the seller to the authorities.”

There’s that rare flash of a grin on his face, “I’m contemplating installing it into the lieutenant’s blaster.”

She gapes at him, an uncertain laugh almost falling from her lips. No, he wouldn’t. Even though he and Pierce clearly dislike each other, he wouldn’t. “You could,” she says teasingly, “but it would be highly unprofessional of you.”

“Quite right, my lord,” he agrees, moving on from the stall to a quieter section. “May I ask what Darth Baras had to say?”

A quick glance around reveals nobody listening in. Besides, a diplomatic bodyguarding mission is hardly sensitive information. Quinn probably had the same thought before he even asked her the question, “We’re heading to Alderaan. I’ve been demoted to the role of bodyguard for a House Thul diplomat. Could be worse, I suppose. Alderaan is lovely.”

He frowns at the mention of her supposed punishment but quickly brushes it off, “Are you looking forward to returning then?”

“Very much so,” she replies, thinking of the beautiful snow fields and picturesque mountains, “I don’t even mind the pitiful excuse for work, to be honest. It’ll be a relief to get a break from the war.”

“Perhaps not as much as you hope,” he says regretfully, “Alderaan has been a battleground since before you restarted the war. While the threat of House Ulgo has been removed from the planet, the Empire and the Republic still have numerous outposts and alliances there. While House Thul and House Organa have been keeping to political machinations and attempts at diplomacy, I doubt they’ll remain peaceful for very long. It is still in the middle of a civil war, regardless of House Ulgo’s defeat.”

No actually, she’s just going to ignore that and hold out a threadbare hope of a nice, quiet excursion to Alderaan punctuated only by a few hours of standing around, looking intimidating and getting Republic diplomats to stop talking. “Can’t I have anything nice?” she asks rhetorically. She already knows that the answer to that is apparently ‘no’.

“As you said, Alderaan _is_ lovely,” he reminds her, “I’m certain there will be some time on this mission for you to enjoy the scenery without conflict.”

“I hope so,” she says with a sigh.

She picks up a familiar flicker in the force and turns to see Lieutenant Pierce walking up to them. She hopes he didn’t overhear her conversation with Quinn about sabotaging his blaster. Even though it was a joke, she doesn’t think he’d take it well.

Pierce nods to her and ignores Quinn, “Found something interesting. You might want to see it for yourself.”

Well that’s not causing her curiosity to eat her alive or anything. “I believe you have a job to do, lieutenant,” Quinn says coolly, sharing none of Gimrizh’s interest in the matter.

“Believe me,” Pierce replies, “She’ll want to see this.”

“Lead the way,” she agrees.

Pierce heads a couple of stalls down, Gimrizh dogging his footsteps eagerly. Quinn, not so much, but he’s reluctantly following them anyways. They come to a stop at the end of a row of shops and Pierce points out what he’s been talking about.

It’s Vette and Jaesa.

Gimrizh is about to ask what the hell Pierce has been drinking before she gets a closer look at the two of them. They’re holding hands as they shop and there’s a faint flush on Jaesa’s cheeks that’s overshadowed by her beaming grin. She reaches into the force to confirm it, lightly stretching out her senses so as not to alert Jaesa. There’s a slight aura of bright happiness around the two, deepening into something more as they shift closer together.

Gimrizh gasps. “ _No_!” she whispers incredulously. She can’t stop the smile from spreading across her lips, “Well - I didn’t see that coming.”

“Eh,” Pierce shrugs, but she can see he finds the whole thing hilarious, “They’d been making moon eyes at each other for a while now. Figure it’s about damn time.”

Huh. She hadn’t noticed that. “I think it’s sweet,” she decides.

“What are you two talking about?” Quinn asks, looking at Vette and Jaesa as they are, but apparently not noticing the sickeningly adorable budding romance.

She grins at him, “Vette and Jaesa!”

“Yes, I can see that,” he tells her, “What _about_ Vette and Jaesa?”

“ _Look_!” She steps out of the way and tugs him forward, pointing as her apprentice laughs at something Vette’s said, “See?”

Quinn takes a long look and then she can see his eyes widen slightly as he realizes what’s going on in front of them, “Ah. I didn’t know they were involved.”

“I think it’s a new development,” Gimrizh guesses. She likes to think that she would have noticed if this had been going on for a while. There’s a shy awkwardness around the two that makes her think they haven’t talked it out yet. She hopes it works out. She cares about the two of them more deeply than she’s likely to admit and both could do with a bit more happiness.

“That… makes a lot of sense, actually,” Quinn agrees, “Jaesa had been spending a frankly astonishing number of hours in the medbay during Vette’s recovery.”

Pierce laughs, “Well she certainly wasn’t interested in medicine, that’s for damn sure.”

“Aren’t there rules against this sort of thing?” Quinn asks thoughtfully, as if trying to bring a specific rule to mind.

Gimrizh shrugs. She’s got no idea, “I doubt it? Jaesa’s an apprentice, so she’s not part of the military sphere. Vette’s… a civilian? Fuck, what even _is_ Vette? She’s not technically a slave anymore, so she’s not property, but she’s not Sith, or Military, or Intelligence. I do pay her, but it’s more of an allowance than a salary... “

Quinn considers the matter, “... An independant contractor?”

“That sounds about right,” she replies, “I don’t think there are any rules against Sith apprentices dating independant contractors.”

“It’s so cute I might throw up,” Pierce comments.

Gimrizh looks back to her two friends and laughs, “Yeah, it’s a great offense to my malicious Sith sensibilities. I should assign Jaesa some extra-evil training to make up for it. Make her kick a loth-cat or something to get back in the Sith grove of things.”

“As fascinating as this new discovery is,” Quinn says, far less interested in this adorable new romance than they are, “there is still work to be done before we leave for Alderaan. My lord, there are still a number of parts being replaced in _Horizon_ and a few deliveries that have yet to arrive. All things considered, I imagine we should be able to depart within the next twenty-four hours.”

Ah yes, they do have a mission that needs completion, regardless of how easy the work might be. She turns away from the far more interesting matter of Vette and Jaesa and clears her throat, “Right, yes, you’re quite correct. Lieutenant, weren’t you securing new power packs for _Horizon_ ’s particle cannons? The chance of a skirmish on route to Alderaan is unlikely, but we will be near Republic space. Best not to chance it.”

Pierce snaps back to work, “On it.”

Once the lieutenant has vanished into the hub of the market, Gimrizh asks, “Did you finish restocking the medbay?”

“That was the first thing I did, my lord,” Quinn informs her with no small hint of pride in his voice, “I used up a good deal of our resources while Vette was injured and increased the amount of undiluted kotlo we carry.”

Perfect, now she can get down to the most important thing she’s looking for here, “Then I require your services, captain,” she says with a grin, “I saw this stall selling fried endwa, but I can’t tell if it’s good or not. I need assistance.”

“It’s not,” he says with certainty, “All Corellian food is overrated.”

“Wait- wait - I know this one,” she tries to remember the exact phrase. She clears her throat and puts on her best imitation of a Dromund Kaas accent, “‘Corellian food is heavy and greasy, even though everyone thinks it’s the best. Nabooian food is _actually_ the best because it’s lighter and they use better spices.’ Did I get that right?”

Quinn does a double take, “You’ve met Lucian _once_. That’s actually rather impressive.”

“Lightsaber-ing people to death is not my only skill,” she says jokingly, “So if Corellian is out, do you have any recommendations?”

That elusive smile reappears and she feels like there’s a mynock fluttering around in her stomach, “Well, my lord, I believe I saw a stand offering barbequed groat two rows down. It’s difficult to get _good_ Nabooian in a market like this, even in Kaas City, but it looked decent. If that sounds alright to you, of course.”

She’s never tried groat before, but hells, she’s barely eaten anything before, “That sounds _excellent_.”

Quinn offers her his arm, making her cheeks turn a bright red even as she slips her hand into the crook of his elbow. She doesn’t even know _why_ she’s blushing, this is hardly the most embarrassing thing she’s done, and she actually quite likes the contact even though she’s normally more averse to physical touch. _It’s just formality_ , she tells herself, _he’s just being polite_.

It shouldn’t matter and she’s not sure why it does.

~*~

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Vette asks again, the same question she’s been asking since they left Dromund Kaas a week ago.

Jaesa takes a pointed step off _Horizon_ ’s drawbridge and onto the durasteel floors of the Rhu Caenas Spaceport. She’s now officially back on Alderaanian ground. “When I was last on Alderaan, I was a different person,” she tells her, “My memories of this place aren’t going to have much effect on me now. It was a long time ago. I don’t have family here anymore, there’s nothing _painful_ about Alderaan.”

“Right-” Vette flinches at the reminder of what happened to her parents, “Sorry about that.”

Oh dear, she shouldn’t have said that. She’s not upset about what happened to her parents. They’re alive and they’re happy, and she knows that Vette and her master did what they had to do to keep her parents safe. It did, in a strange way, work out. If she did not hate her master for her decision, she certainly isn’t going to hold it against Vette. “It’s alright. I know that you are not to blame for any of the hardships that resulted in my parent’s relocation to Kaas City. Besides, it is what it is.”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to go back to a place that screwed you over,” Vette says with a shrug, unwilling to fully give up the blame for the incident.

Alderaan never screwed her over, not really. They’re just incompatible.

The politics of Alderaan results in a web of lies and falsehoods and Jaesa has never been able to stomach that. It’s how politics _works_ , so part of her is hesitant to condemn the entire system just because she personally finds it distasteful. She’s not even sure how much of it is because she’s always been able to see through the whole facade and therefore cannot play the game the same way that other politicians can.

She’s also uncertain if she can stand on that moral high ground anymore. Now that she’s living her life pretending to be a Sith and lying about who she is, can she really hate politicians for doing the same thing? The difference is that she’s doing this performance with the hope that she can bring about meaningful change from within the Empire - regardless of her master’s utter lack of ambition. Alderaanian politicians seem to be motivated by personal enrichment instead of societal change. Even so, is it really that different? Changing the Empire would result in an easier and happier life for Jaesa in the end. She can’t blame politicians simply for being better than her at the same thing.

“I’ve come to terms with the fact that Alderaan is a vital world in the galaxy and that my business shall not permit me to avoid this place,” Jaesa replies, “I’m actually rather looking forward to being able to revisit places I haven’t seen since I was younger.”

There’s a spring in Vette’s step as she walks alongside her, “Sweet! I am _down_ for some sightseeing! Cause you know, we don’t have to do shit on this mission. Gimrizh has got to stand around and bodyguard stuff, but _we_ don’t have any orders or nothing. We can spend the whole time vacationing!”

“Alright, but not for the _whole_ time,” Jaesa stipulates, “Alderaan isn’t exactly a stable planet - we may be called on for assistance.”

“Yeah and if they do we can tell them to fuck off,” Vette mutters under her breath, “I spent three weeks in an out of a fucking kolto tank, if some asshat thinks I’m going to drop the chance at a relaxing week then they’re going to need a force-damned kolto tank once I’m done with ‘em.”

Vette is paying so little attention that Jaesa has to grab onto her arm to stop her from walking right into Gimrizh’s back. Her master has stopped in front of the hangar bay to speak with whichever Thul dignitary is waiting for them. Jaesa slowly presses her finger to her lips and Vette shuts her mouth.

“House Thul welcomes your return to Alderaan, my lord,” the man says, bowing to her master, “It’s an honor to have someone of your renown and standing oversee this comparatively minor situation -”

“If you’re insinuating that this is beneath me, spare your breath,” Gimrizh says sharply, “I’m not an idiot. Just say your piece, tell me what I’m here to do, and then leave. This planet shall be far more beautiful without some fool giving underhanded insults standing in the way of the view.”

Sometimes, Jaesa does wish her master would be a bit more diplomatic. The man recoils and then coughs awkwardly, “Ah- yes, my lord. Of course. You will be offering protection to Duke Stanel Andaren Thul during the course of the summit. The meeting shall take place on taungsday next week, and the duke shall confer with you before the summit to go over any important details. The night after the summit, a formal ball will be held to cement peaceful relations between all parties. During your stay, House Thul is pleased to offer you and your crew luxury suites in the capital city. Anything you require shall be made available to you as soon as you request it. House Thul is honored to have your assistance.”

“Thank you,” Gimrizh replies, “that will be all.”

The messenger gives one last bow before scurrying off.

“So if you’re going to be playing guard to a puffed up diplomat, what are _our_ orders?” the lieutenant asks.

Gimrizh shrugs, “Have fun, don’t get yourselves killed, don’t start anything that would make House Thul pissed off.”

Vette cheers, her fist pumping into the air, “ _Vacation_!”

~*~

Malavai takes his seat next to Lord Gimrizh as the meeting begins. On the other side of the table is their diplomat, Stanel Andaren Thul. The man isn’t what he expected for a member of Thul’s diplomatic corps. Stanel is a stern looking man, old and stubborn, not someone who seems to be made for a life of compromise.

“I must thank you for your assistance,” Stanel says. Ever so slightly, he inclines his head towards Gimrizh, “Having a Sith as my protection goes a long way towards assuring me of the Empire’s goodwill and support of a Thul-led Alderaan. I am certain that the rest of my house is equally relieved that the Empire is extending a hand in regards to this summit. May I ask, what have you been told so far?”

“Startlingly little,” Gimrizh replies frankly, “Why don’t you brief me?”

She subtly glances over at Malavai and then lets her eyes fall to the datapad he’s using to record the conversation. Catching her meaning, he plugs Stanel Thul’s name into the Imperial databases and runs a search.

“Well to begin,” the diplomat begins, “It isn’t a standard summit. A call for a Killik-Imperial alliance has been put out through a number of different interested parties and the summit is being held to answer that call.”

Gimrizh holds up a hand, signaling for him to pause, “A _Killik_ -Imperial alliance? The bug species native to Alderaan?”

That’s unusual. The Killiks have a long history of violent clashes with the human residents of this planet. Malavai always presumed that if they were to extend a hand of friendship - or whatever appendages they’ve got - it would be with the _Republic_ , not the Empire. After all, it’s the Republic that has far more pro-alien laws. While the Killiks have formed temporary treaties with both factions over the years, this does sound like something more long term.

“That’s correct,” Stanel confirms, “They’ve requested an alliance with the Empire - it was a bit of a surprise to us as well. Because one of the main groups of Killiks backing the alliance is on Alderaan, it was agreed that we would hold the peace talks here. Once the Republic got wind of it, they decided to try and propose their own treaty with the Killiks. They’re allowed to, of course, Alderaan is technically neutral, and we’re bound by Alderaanian laws here. If the Republic wants to make peace with the Killiks then they can send their own diplomats to this meeting.”

Gimrizh frowns at this bit of information, “So we will be facing pubs, then.”

He thinks it over, “Perhaps not. The two of them are hoping for a peaceful resolution to this disagreement. As am I, of course.”

“Diplomatic negotiations such as this are almost always peaceful, my lord,” Malavai informs her, “I doubt this summit will vary from that pattern. Even if it does, the Republic is unlikely to have brought along a Jedi, and certainly not one that can stand up to your skill.”

She smiles a wry smile, “That’s reassuring. Do continue, Stanel Andaren, I apologize for my interruption.”

Stanel looks uncomfortable with her apologizing to him instead of the other way around, “Certainly, my lord. There will be both diplomats from the Alderaanian Killik groups and the Republic present. I will be representing House Thul and the Empire. All that will be required of you is your presence and your ability to ensure my safety.”

“So I stand around looking intimidating,” she summarizes wryly, “I think I can handle that.”

“There _is_ a bit more to it than that,” he protests, “You will be expected to offer your own opinions regarding the treaty and act as a representative for the Empire. Usually, a bodyguard would not be expected to stand as a diplomat as well, but you’re a Sith Lord. The Republic will be hoping to catch you off guard by putting you on the spot during the summit. Before hand, you should prepare a statement regarding what you believe would be best for the Empire.”

Of course the Republic will attempt to force Lord Gimrizh’s hand into acting as a stand in diplomat for the Empire. They will see it as an easy opportunity to push Stanel Andaren into the role of a representative of House Thul, and put an inexperienced and unprepared candidate into the position of standing for the Empire. It’s the same sort of move Malavai himself would make if he were in the same position as the Republic.

Gimrizh doesn’t seem too concerned, but he can see her fingers tapping a fast beat against the table - an obvious sign that this does in fact worry her. “Alright. Where do you stand on this issue, Stanel Andaren? So that we can appear united in front of the Republic.”

“I support the Empire’s best interests,” Stanel replies cryptically, “I will listen to the Killiks’ proposal and see what the most profitable and reliable course of action will be.”

She stops tapping her finger, “I’m glad that you will have the Empire in your heart during the negotiations. I’ll prepare a statement to that effect. It’ll be a pleasure to work with you during this important summit, Stanel Andaren.”

“Thank you once again for your assistance.” Stanel rises to his feet and bows once more before leaving the room.

Once he’s left the room and his footsteps have faded, Malavai shows Lord Gimrizh the file he’s pulled up on his datapad. It’s not much, some of Stanel Andaren’s family tree and any time he’s crossed paths with the Empire. A lot of the blank spaces in the file are simply long periods of relative inactivity spent entirely on Alderaan, where the Imperial Census Bureau doesn’t have full authority. “I wasn’t able to find out much about him, my lord, I do apologize.”

Gimrizh leans over and reads the file closely, her eyes flickering over each sentence, “There aren’t any past diplomatic missions listed here.”

“Correct, my lord,” Malavai says, having noticed the mystery of that himself. Stanel Andaren is a duke of House Thul who until now had been working as an honorary general in the war against House Organa. No training as a diplomatic is listed, nor are any summits or negotiations he might have attended, “It appears as though this will be his first time working in the diplomatic sector.”

“I wonder why,” she muses thoughtfully, “Can you find out?”

“Given more time, I believe I could access the House Thul databases and see if they have any information on record,” he informs her.

She smiles at him, “Thank you, Quinn. That would be one less thing I have to worry about.”

Malavai makes a note to gain as much information on the man as possible. Even though Lord Gimrizh is certain that this will be a simple mission, if Stanel Andaren cannot be trusted it will suddenly shoot up in difficulty. “I will get to work as soon as I can, my lord,” he promises.

“Where have the rest gotten to?” she asks, “I haven’t seen anyone since this morning.”

“I believe Vette and Jaesa are sightseeing,” he recalls, “and the lieutenant is running a few training exercises with the House Thul militia.”

She sighs and leans back in her chair, putting her feet up on the table, “I _wish_ I could be sightseeing.”

“The feeling is mutual, my lord,” he agrees, not particularly looking forward to attending an important peace summit between a hostile alien species and the krething Republic, with an inexperienced diplomat who’s likely hiding something. When sent to a stunningly beautiful planet like Alderaan, that _isn’t_ top of his ‘to-do’ list.

~*~

Foris is most certainly _not_ running a training exercise with the House Thul militia. He’s also most fucking certainly not going to let the captain know that.

Throughout his career living one breath away from a potential blaster bolt to the head, he’s followed a simple two-step plan when it comes to cases like these. Step one: have a hunch. Step two: prove it. So that’s what he’s going to do. He’s positive the captain’s up to something. All he needs to do is find some evidence. Even though he usually considers Gimrizh to be a pretty good commander, he knows that she’s somewhat more chummy with the captain than she is with the rest of the crew. Proving his hunch is going to require solid proof to convince her.

So step two it is. Tangible evidence.

The fact that he bunks with the captain on _Horizon_ makes this job so much easier. He doesn’t even have to break in or nothing.

Stars, the captain is so damn boring. Foris knows what it’s like to keep stuff all according to regulation but this is just dull. Standard issue storage crates, standard issue datapads. No decorations, no hidden cigarra addition, not even a stash of porn tucked away somewhere. No contraband bottles of tihaar for Foris to skim the tops off of. Shame that, his personal cache of liquor is getting a tad low. Maybe he’ll ask Vette out barhopping once she and Jaesa are done mooning over each other.

Foris picks the lock on the storage crates. It’s a two second job, the crates are standard issue - fucking _figures_. The locks are kind of crappy and he’s fiddled with them before. It’s not hard. He sifts through the stack of datapads inside. With nowhere else to start, he grabs the top most one and is swiftly faced with a screen demanding a passcode.

Why lock up the datapads if they’re password protected? Worth looking through, he thinks. He plugs a datastick into each pad one by one, doing a copy of the hard drive before placing the datapads right back where he found them. It’s tempting to just trash the place and enjoy the captain’s shocked expression when he finds out, but discretion is probably the better path right now.

Once he’s pawed through the crate of datapads, he tucks his stick into a pocket, locks up the crate, and puts it right back where he found it. No need for the captain to get suspicious. The second supply crate is just clothes and that’s just about all there is. Too bad Quinn is too much of a prissy bastard for him to be the sort of person who hoards stuff. If that were the case, at least Foris would have a bit more to go on.

He quickly checks over the room one more time to make sure he didn’t leave anything out of place and then strides out to the main corridor in _Horizon_. The tiny datastick is burning a hole in his pocket. When he’s got time, he’ll go over every single ounce of data that the captain’s ever recorded.

Knowing Quinn, he bets that bastard keeps detailed records of krething _everything_.

Twenty credits says he finds something good.

~*~

Gimrizh’s finger hovers over the holo map, running through the plan with Quinn one last time before the summit officially begins.

A layout of the massive diplomatic hall floats before them. The hall itself used to belong to House Panteer and is now one of the closest things to a neutral zone that Alderaan has, located in what’s left of Juranno. Juranno was the capital city of House Panteer and had been firebombed numerous times during the war. Now it’s split in two, the center of the city is neutral territory used for negotiations and visiting unaligned diplomats from all corners of the galaxy, while the lower levels are slums inhabited by refugees.

The hall is on the upper levels of one of Juranno’s spacescrapers, a stunning and mostly intact building standing in the center of the city. It’s owned by House Thul, a minor concession the Republic was forced to allow given that the Killiks reached out first to the Empire to begin with. They’re currently housed in the east wing, given over to the Empire and House Thul for the duration of the summit. On the opposite side of the hall is the Republic and House Organa delegation, and to the north is the Killik group that’s been pushing for an alliance.

It’s the pubs that have been giving her and Quinn difficulty, as per fucking usual. They’ve been the ones insisting that they get to bring a full squad of Republic troopers to the meeting, and it’s been a nightmare convincing Stanel not to announce that the Empire sent a Sith out of desire to one-up the Republic. So now there’s one Organa diplomat surrounded by more pubs than should be allowed, honestly. The Killiks haven’t released any information about who they’re sending, although she’s uncertain if it will matter. What little she’s read on the species seems to suggest a hive mind. She supposes that the only thing that _will_ make a difference is how _many_ Killiks they decide to send.

She looks over the map, committing the layout of the halls to memory and dragging her finger over possible emergency exit routes, in case it all goes to hell. “This whole thing’s a disaster waiting to happen,” she mutters.

“It could be worse, my lord,” Quinn replies, “We both know that even a full team of Republic soldiers isn’t enough to stand up to you. If there’s an altercation, you can engage the Republic’s forces while I evacuate Stanel Andaren to the top floor hangar bay.”

Her eyes trace the route he’s describing, “Good plan. I suppose if the Killiks try anything I’ll just throw the pubs at them, shall I? The Killiks will be expecting blasters, not flying Republic troopers, perhaps it will distract them.”

“Utilizing the element of surprise, my lord?” he asks lightly, the corner of his mouth tugging upwards.

“Whatever gets me through this summit without dying of boredom,” she says dryly, “or excessive paranoia.”

Quinn gives her a serious look, “It’s not paranoia if the suspicion is warranted.”

True. There are enemies everywhere she turns apparently, and sometimes it seems as though everyone is out to get her. This entire summit has been grating on her already drawn out nerves, a result of the secrecy that surrounds the Killik delegation and the overblown pomp of the Republic. “Speaking of,” she continues, lowering her voice somewhat, “have you discovered anything of value concerning our most _esteemed_ diplomat?”

“Regrettably not, my lord,” he informs her. With a sigh of disappointment, he turns his datapad towards her so that she can see the screen. His request for Stanel Andaren’s file is dragging through the House Thul systems, pending approval. That’s… odd. She _knows_ her clearance should be high enough to get a simple diplomat’s file. Is something in there being hidden from her on purpose?

She hums thoughtfully, “Is there another way to get that file?”

“Well,” Quinn suggests, somewhat hesitantly, “I could slice into Thul’s system. It would be illegal, and as we are allied with their House it would also be highly questionable.”

There’s the slightest of a tug in the force, like a focus put around Stanel Andaren. That man is up to something, or there’s something wrong. Whatever it is, she wants to know. “Go ahead. Whatever you need to do, you have my full permission as always.”

He’s already running a program as he replies, “Thank you, my lord.”

“In case Stanel Andaren really _hasn’t_ got any experience as a diplomat,” she remarks, “what do you think I should do?”

If they end up stuck in the middle of the summit with Stanel completely screwing the Empire over, there’s no way they’re going to do nothing. She’s no diplomat, she’s well aware of that, but she’s still here to represent the Empire’s best interests. Stanel is first and foremost, an Alderaanian. If he doesn’t have any experience, he won’t know how to properly balance out the two of them and fall back on disproportionately favoring House Thul.

Quinn glances over the holo map as he considers his answer, the blue glow reflecting in his eyes, “You have the legal authority to represent the Empire here,” he reminds her, “As a Sith Lord, you are technically the highest ranked person in our delegation. If Stanel Andaren falters, you have every right to step in and take control of the summit yourself.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” she comments, taking one last look at the map before powering down the holo and tucking it into her pocket. “I’ve got even less experience in diplomacy than Stanel does.”

“No matter,” he says firmly, “I am certain that you will do an exemplary job as always.”

That is most definitely _not_ the case, she’s _not_ very successful, most of the time she’s holding on by a tenuous thread and things only come through due to sheer luck and other people’s brilliance. Hells, she can’t count the number of times that Quinn has personally saved her sorry ass. The words, _I’m just bullshitting my way through life_ , are on the tip of her tongue when there’s a knock at the door.

A second later, Stanel Andaren lets himself in. She checks her chrono - quarter past the hour. It’s almost time for the summit to convene. Even if he is inexperienced in diplomacy, at least the man is punctual.

“We should be making our way to the meeting hall,” Stanel informs them somewhat pompously, as though he knows best in this situation, and as though the two of them haven’t been poured over plans for his own personal safety this whole time, “I will not be late to our own summit.”

She tries not to sigh, “I believe it is the _Killiks’_ summit, not ours. But yes, we should be on our way.”

Stanel frowns at the mention of the bug species, “Yes, you’re quite right. The Killiks.”

“After you,” she says, letting Stanel take the lead, herself and Quinn falling in behind him. They are only here as bodyguards after all, even if it looks as though they might have to take on a more active role. She’s hoping that they’ll get his file before anything too important happens in the summit and that Stanel will be an inexperienced yet highly competent diplomat and everything will go down smoothly. It  probably won’t happen of course, but she’s holding onto that thin sliver of hope.

The meeting hall is over a dozen floors up through a line of House Thul militia that they’ve managed to get assigned here somewhat under the radar. Whatever they could sneak past the Republic.

The Republic’s probably done the same to them, the bastards.

A mousy looking doorman announces them as they enter the sprawling meeting hall, “Duke Stanel Andaren Thul, and Imperial escort.”

“Oh, we’re an ‘escort’?” Gimrizh drawls, “Sounds like a pretentious way of saying ‘bodyguard’ if you ask me.”

Quinn lets a small smile show through, “Oh, it _is_. My lord, I think you’ll find most aspects of diplomacy to be pretentious in the extreme.”

Their group strides into the meeting hall, a vast and high vaulted room with huge transparisteel panels in the ceiling, allowing columns of natural light to fall over the massive circular table in the center. Stanel Andaren takes his seat at one of the three chairs, settling down like he’s sitting upon his throne of power. His face flattens into a stern and expressionless mask. Gimrizh and Quinn stand a few feet behind him, close enough to act if need be.

Almost as soon as they’ve arrived, the doorman clears his throat and says loudly, “General Gisselle Organa, and Republic escort.”

Her jaw falls open, “Oh you’re fucking _kidding_ me.”

“House Organa listed a Duke Tian Organa as their diplomat,” Quinn mutters, double checking the roster on his datapad, “They must have changed it last minute, this is certainly an attempt to throw us off guard.”

Gimrizh swears, “Those krething _bastards_.”

Across the hall, Gisselle Organa makes her entrance. She’s decked out in a formal uniform, a series of medals next to her rank badge and a half-cape thrown across her shoulders. A full squad of Republic troopers follows at her heels, and Gimrizh is pretty sure she recognizes all of them from their previous encounter.

To be fair to House Organa, the general is one of the best choices for a last minute replacement diplomat. Gimrizh remembers how she managed to twist their confrontation from an attack into a mutually beneficial arrangement. To an extent, Gimrizh has a great deal of respect for the general, although she’s _not_ going to admit it out loud. Of course, mixed in with that respect is also a large serving of hatred, because the general is an _enemy_ and honestly this summit is already making her paranoid enough as it is.

The general does a brief double take when she catches sight of Gimrizh and Quinn standing behind Stanel - at least the Republic is just as unprepared as they are.

The final party enters the room, a tall man carrying a wicked electrostaff followed by a nondescript bodyguard. The man exchanges a few hushed words with the doorman before the servant makes the announcement of, “Dawn Herald of the Oroboro Nest, Vector Hyllus, and Imperial escort.”

So that’s the Killik representative.

At least there’s not much to worry about there. The man, Vector Hyllus, has the solid black eyes of a joiner, and looks rather peaceable as he takes his seat. With only one pathetic guard at that. It looks like she might have been a little too worried about the Killiks attempting to send a multitudinous amount of soldiers to the meeting. After all, the Killiks aren’t the Republic, and they did call for a peaceful alliance on their own terms.

“Our thanks go to Houses Thul and Organa for answering the call for an alliance with the Killiks, in particular the Oroboro nest,” Vector begins, the odd plural speaking to a hive mind instead of a full individual, “We would like to reiterate that the call was for an Imperial-Killik alliance. At this time, we are open to hearing propositions from both parties, however please keep in mind our previous statement as we proceed.”

Gisselle Organa is the first to speak up, “I would like to apologize for the intrusion that you might feel the Republic is making here. As the Oroboro Nest, and such a large population of Killiks, are currently living on Alderaan, House Organa felt the need to ensure that our territory and interests are represented.”

“We are aware that while most of the Oroboro Nest is located near House Thul territory, a large portion of Killik nests on Alderaan are close to lands owned by House Organa and other affiliated Houses,” Vector acknowledges with a nod, “There is no protest to your presence here, General Organa, in fact we welcome it. Our words are merely a reminder that we are predisposed towards the Empire in this negotiation.”

“Understandable,” Gisselle comments, “I make no complaint for party bias.”

Stanel Andaren clears his throat and makes his first statement, “I do question the Republic’s investment in this matter. Technically, Alderaan is an unaligned planet and the presence of so many Republic soldiers is -”

“Hypocrisy,” Gisselle says scathingly, “The word you are looking for is hypocrisy, Duke Thul, given that you yourself are backed by a Sith Lord.”

“Are there any further protests regarding the escorts here today, or shall we continue to the matter of treaty negotiations?” Vector asks, not a hint of annoyance in his voice.

Stanel gives a dismissive wave of his hand, “No protest.”

“House Organa is willing to offer numerous parcels of land to the Oroboro nest,” Gisselle starts.

As she lists acres and coordinates, Gimrizh feels dazed by the quick rebuttals of the entire process. It’s a bit dizzying to watch, but also somewhat elegant. She always assumed diplomacy to be a complex venture to engage in, and while she still thinks that’s true, there’s a certain element to it that’s easy to understand. It’s just trying to get what you want while being overly polite and smarmy about the whole thing. She can respect that.

“Who’s the joiner?” she whispers quietly to Quinn as Vector begins to discuss land locations.

Quinn’s already got his datapad out and searching for any information on the diplomat, “I admit, my lord, I’m uncertain. I do _remember_ a Vector Hyllus working for the Imperial Diplomatic Service on Alderaan a number of years ago. He was the center of a rather dramatic sub-species inclusion scandal, but…”

He trails off and shows the datapad to her. Vector Hyllus’ file is there, but the entirety of it is classified. It doesn’t even say where he’s currently posted for stars sake, and she _knows_ the answer to that already.

“Great,” she grumbles, “Another damn mystery. Did you try my clearance ID?”

“Twice,” he tells her, sounding just as annoyed by this whole thing as she is, “Your’s, mine, even Lieutenant Pierce’s. Nothing shows up.”

She blinks at him, “You have Pierce’s clearance ID?”

Quinn refuses to be ashamed by that fact, “It isn’t as though he’s using it, my lord, and as a former member of black ops, he occasionally has access to classified information that my clearance doesn’t. Rarely, of course, but it’s not a chance I’m willing to take. Your clearance level should be enough to access a diplomat’s file, even if he’s working on urgent and secretive treaties, so I’m uncertain as to why neither of us are allowed to read his file.”

“- House Thul refuses to submit to House Organa’s demands for an alliance with the Killiks without first acknowledging Thul’s sovereignty in this matter regarding property that the Oroboro Nest currently resides on -” Stanel is saying.

Gimrizh frowns at their first mystery, “Anything on Stanel?”

“Nothing yet,” Quinn informs her, “I’m slicing into Thul’s archives as we speak.”

“If there’s one more damn surprise in this summit I’m going to flip that fucking table and throw it at Stanel’s krething head,” she mutters to herself.

She can see him trying very hard not to roll his eyes, “My lord, _please_ ,” he says exasperatedly, “This is hardly the time for dramatics.”

She bites down on her lip to smother her smirk and turns her attention back towards the current issue.

“Your complaint is irrelevant,” Vector Hyllus comments, “Regardless of which House currently owns these plots of land, we lived here before either party set foot on Alderaan. The ownership matters not to us. Land does not belong.”

“Perhaps that is not how the Killiks see it,” Stanel scoffs, “but both Thul and Organa own that land, whatever your _nest_ might think.”

Vector doesn’t so much as blink, “As we said, land does not belong.”

“Why is Stanel being so rude?” Gimrizh says quietly, wondering if she’s missing something or if their inexperienced diplomat has made his first mistake, “There’s no reason to try and antagonize the Killiks, is there?”

Quinn shakes his head ever so slightly, “No, there isn’t. We’re lucky Vector Hyllus chose not to take offense.”

“House Organa is prepared to relinquish lands owned by our House to the Killiks of Alderaan,” Gisselle chimes in, taking advantage of Stanel’s fuck up.

Apparently, land _really_ doesn’t matter to the Killiks, “We shall reiterate that we are predisposed towards the Empire,” Vector replies, “We would propose a tentative military alliance with the Empire, in exchange for House Thul relinquishing property rights to all territory currently occupied by Killik nests, allowances to lift the ban preventing sub-species to serve in the Empire, and official redesignation of Killiks as ‘sentients’ under Imperial law.”

“I would allow the Killik species redesignation,” Stanel says tentatively, before closing in for the kill, “With the condition that nests on Thul property be public and differing labels to distinguish between born Killiks and otherwise. The Empire may allow a sentient label to apply to natural Killiks and consider a different designation for others.”

Gimrizh frowns at the same time as Vector Hyllus, “Public property?” she whispers, “What does _that_ mean?”

“I think,” Quinn says slowly, “it means that Stanel wants access to the Killik nests.”

“But the Killiks would never allow that, surely?” she asks.

He looks somewhat worried by what Stanel seems to be doing, “No, my lord, I don’t think they would. Insisting will not be beneficial for the Empire - Vector Hyllus’ terms are actually quite reasonable and similar to our treaty with the Chiss Ascendancy, so there is a precedent already set there.”

Then there’s no reason for any of this insistence, “What is Stanel _doing_?”

“Apparently,” he replies, “he’s sabotaging our chances of a peaceful treaty.”

“Nests cannot be public,” Vector says, shooting down Stanel’s demands, “Any space occupied by Killiks must be seen as such. We welcome joiners, however we also must press the fact that our nests are our homes. We would not be happy to have constant intruders in our homes in the same way that anyone in House Thul would be resentful of uninvited visitors. The point regarding public nests is nonnegotiable.”

Stanel doesn’t break, “I must insist.”

Seizing the moment once again, Gisselle Organa speaks up, “House Organa would allow all Killik Nests full sovereignty over their own territory.”

“We would make that same request of House Thul,” Vector presses.

“In order for House Thul to have any modicum of trust between us and these _nests_ ,” Stanel says, a bitter current of anger breaking through his calm and flat tone, “we must be allowed to ensure that you Killiks are not hiding anything from us. Who knows what you have taken from House Thul over the years? We would make sure that there are no more - no more secrets hidden between us, and to do so, we must be allowed to search these nests.”

Oh dear, he’s going to fuck the whole thing up.

Vector pulls back, “We understand the sentiment, however we still cannot allow our homes to be searched by soldiers -”

“This matter is not up for negotiation,” Stanel demands.

“My lord,” Quinn says urgently, pressing his datapad into her hands, “Stanel Andaren’s file from the House Thul archives. I believe I’ve found something of interest.”

She quickly reads through the file. As she thought, there’s no record of any past experience in diplomacy. What is interesting is that he suggested that the Killik summit be held on Alderaan in the first place. It appears as though Vector Hyllus put his request in through the Imperial Diplomatic Service and that the claim would have been ignored - only Stanel Andaren seized the request and pressed for a summit on his home planet.

Why though, if he’s going to mess it all up -

Oh.

Damn it all, she had been expecting this sort of bullshit from the Republic, not from their own krething side. Even now, she can’t see what idiotic stunt he’s going to pull, but she knows he’s going to do something and it will absolutely _not_ be in the Empire’s benefit. For fuck’s sake, this entire thing is a disaster. Looks like she’s going to have to intervene after all.

“Do excuse the interruption,” she says venomously, stepping up to the table.

The three diplomats exchange looks. Vector shrugs, apparently indifferent to what she may have to say.

“Go ahead,” Gisselle allows, “I know you can be quite reasonable, Lord Gimrizh.”

“Wonderful,” Gimrizh drawls. She turns to Stanel and places the datapad down on the table in front of him, “I was hoping you could explain what the fuck you’re doing here?”

Stanel pushes his chair back and leaps to his feet, “You are stepping out of line, you have no experience in this field, and you -”

“I represent the Empire’s best interests,” she cuts him off, holding up a pointed finger, “ _You_ , on the other hand, have just proven that you are here to do no such thing. So I ask again, what the fuck are you doing here? What are you trying to pull?”

He grinds his teeth together and grits out, “You would do well to stay out of matters that-”

“Daria Thul,” she announces to the table, “Daria Thul is Stanel Andaren Thul’s daughter, and, in case it’s not obvious by dear daddy’s constant attempts to demand to be allowed to march all his soldiers into every Killik nest on Alderaan, she’s also a joiner. Not all that different from you, Vector, although I don’t think she’s got that fancy ‘Dawn Herald’ title.”

Stanel snaps, “My daughter was kidnapped by these bug scum! I have a right to ensure that my daughter is returned to me!”

Vector Hyllus almost looks outraged - if he showed emotions like a normal person, that is, “We do not force any into our nests - all joiners do so of their own free will. The person you once knew as Daria Thul is not part of the Oroboro nest, but there are no nests on Alderaan that would do what you are accusing us of.”

“Clearly, Stanel Andaren is not as unbiased as we thought,” Gisselle objects, “If he has personal involvement in this matter, perhaps we should reconvene later after House Thul sends a different delegate with a calmer head.”

All the way across the table, Stanel levels a glare at the general, “House Thul has already been fully informed of my daughter’s kidnapping. You have no authority to banish me.”

“That’s where you’re quite incorrect,” Quinn interjects, stepping forward with a smug smirk, “The Killiks called for an alliance with the _Empire_ and it just so happened that Alderaan was the chosen location for this summit. As such, the Empire can choose at any point to host the treaty negotiations elsewhere, removing House Thul entirety. The Empire can also choose to appoint their own delegate at any time during the proceedings.”

Gisselle chimes in, “I have no objections to Lord Gimrizh replacing Duke Stanel Andaren.”

Of course she wouldn’t, Gisselle’s worked with her before and _knows_ that they’ve cooperated in the past. The general would probably be thrilled if she took over Stanel’s position.

“Well then,” Gimrizh crosses her arms and smiles sharply at Stanel, “As you’re trying to fuck this up gloriously, I’ve decided that you are no longer fit to represent the Empire.”

Rigid as a brick wall, Stanel casts his eyes across the assembled delegations and apparently finds no weakness he can exploit, no sympathetic ear. He’s not going to find an ounce of help from the Republic, obviously, and he’s been too offensive to Vector Hyllus for any support there. She supposes that he was hoping she would support him. Too bad. Any other time, she might have actually listened to his complaint and tried to help him locate his daughter, but he hid this from her instead. He hid and lied and _that_ matters to her.

It’s a pity, that. He doesn’t strike her as a foolish man, but he must have realized from the moment he saw her damn horns that she wouldn’t be predisposed to being swayed by any speciesism-based arguments. Without that, was he really banking all his hopes on her own partisanship? Did he really not think that his underhanded methods of dealing with the problem would alienate her along with Vector Hyllus?

“Very well,” Stanel says, pressing a button on his commlink, “No other options left, are there?”

Ah fuck.

Every single door opens and all the guards that House Thul managed to sneak past the Republic pour into the room, brandishing blasters. They surround the table and hold the entire delegation at barrel point.

“If I cannot allow my soldiers to _legally_ search the Killiks nests and recover my daughter, then you have forced my hand into more desperate measures,” Stanel informs them all, straightening up and surveying the room. “I’m sure that the Killiks will allow me to exchange one hostage for another, especially one with the rank of Dawn Herald.”

The Thul militia take one step closer.

Gimrizh’s hands hover an inch away from her lightsabers, hesitant to draw. If they really want to foster a working relationship with the Killiks, she doubts they’ll appreciate her starting this fight, especially if it gets their diplomat killed. She can’t protect everyone and she knows that if pressed she will sacrifice everyone else in this room to save Quinn without a thought. Vector Hyllus would be on his own, with just one pathetic guard to keep him alive.

Whatever happens with Gisselle Organa doesn’t matter, the woman has her own damn squad to keep her safe. The Thul militia aren’t engaging just yet and she doesn’t want to be the first to break the standoff.

“Surrender, Vector Hyllus,” Stanel demands, already convinced he’s won, “You will be taken into custody and give me and my men permission to search the nests for Daria.”

Two guards approach Vector, one holding a pair of binders.

Gimrizh reaches for her lightsabers and at her side she can see Quinn draw his blaster -

The first guard dies with a slit throat and a gurgle.

A brief flash of blue and the unassuming Chiss woman guarding Vector Hyllus that Gimrizh had written off as so under the radar as to not even be part of the equation stabs a vibroblade into the second soldier's eye.

It lasts barely a second.

The Chiss shoots three guards in one quick draw, vaults over the table, grabs Stanel Andaren by the front of his robe, pulls him up, and places a blade neatly over his throat.

“Stand down,” she orders.

Her clipped Dromund Kaas accent echos around the room and the thin trickle of blood running down Stanel’s neck persuades the Thul militia to lower their blasters.

“Drop your weapons,” she continues, not moving the knife a single inch, “Turn around, and leave the premises. If you refuse, I kill Stanel Andaren. The rest of you won’t fare too well either. We outmatch you easily.”

For a moment, the guards hesitate.

Then they lay down their blasters and do as she demands.

As soon as the last guard has left the room, the Chiss flips Stanel around and slaps a pair of binders around his wrists. Before he can get so much as a single word out, she grabs his sash and gags him with it.

“Sorry Vector,” she says sincerely. She tosses Stanel back into his seat and hops down from the table, “Meeting adjourned.”

Vector Hyllus bows to the stunned room, “We shall discuss any further negotiations at the event tomorrow night. We thank you for your time and hope that we can reconvene this summit with more amendable diplomats.”

And then the two of them leave.

“I-” Gisselle says, stunned and somewhat winded, “I suppose I will see you all later then, shall I?”

Gimrizh blinks, “Right. Something tomorrow. Okay. Quinn, if you could get someone to make sure Stanel Andaren is escorted back to the House Thul…?”

“Already done, my lord,” he tells her, casting another glare at Stanel’s tied up form, “and before you ask, I am most _certainly_ going to find out who that woman is.”

“Yes, I think we rather need to know, at this point,” she agrees faintly.

Gisselle collapses in her chair, “I need a krething drink,” she declares, and Gimrizh has never agreed with her more.

~*~

Lord Gimrizh looks like the mug of caff in her hands is the only thing keeping her from passing out, “The fuck even _was_ today?” she mutters under her breath.

Malavai wishes he had a good answer for that. Of all the plans they had made for the summit, they had been preoccupied with considering the Republic and the Killiks as the parties instigating violence. Stanel Andaren being a traitor - even if House Thul refuses to label him as such - hadn’t been on the list. It’s an option he _should_ have considered, but didn’t. And as a result of that complacency, they’d been completely blindsided by Stanel’s move to attack the Killik representative.

“A miscalculation on my part, my lord.” He stares down at the datapad in his hand and then promises, “It will not happen again.”

“Wasn’t your fault,” she says with a sigh. She looks at the mug in her hands, drains it, and tells him, “It was fucking Stanel Andaren’s fault. Fuck that bastard - I didn’t even get to flip the table and throw it at his face and in truth, I was greatly looking forward to that portion of the summit.”

He bites down on the smile that threatens to break his professionalism - there’s still a lot of work to be done.

“Do you have anything on that woman yet?” she asks, making her way to the kitchen to refill her mug.

Reluctantly, Malavai glances back down at his datapad to the message that’s been blinking on his screen for the past hour. For some reason, stars only know, Darth Baras is requesting his full report regarding the Hoth situation immediately. So far, he’s been giving Baras a complete update whenever he has the time, for Baras to outright demand a report is… troubling.

It isn’t as though he’s been delaying giving Baras the information regarding the Hoth incident. He should still have a few more weeks to send his report off. Given the fact that Lord Gimrizh herself traveled to Kaas City to update Baras on the situation as well as deliver the acquired lightsaber, he had presumed that only a skeletal report would be necessary, as Gimrizh had already relayed most of the relevant information. Part of him almost resents Baras for the demand - he is _busy_ and writing a report takes time, time that he has to come up with a convenient excuse for.

Even so, he’s not going to question Darth Baras. He _knows_ that Baras does everything for the glory of the Empire, and if that includes keeping an eye on his commanding officer, then that’s what he has to do.

He closes the message and pulls up what little he’s gathered on the Chiss woman. “Yes, and no, my lord.”

“Well that’s a good start,” Gimrizh says sarcastically, “Let me guess, she’s ‘classified’ just like Vector Hyllus?”

“If she were classified, that would be a different story.” Classified is just a matter of finding the right clearance code, this is something more confusing, “As far as I can tell, she doesn’t exist.”

“Great,” she groans.

That’s one sentiment he can whole-heartedly agree with, “I tried running the security cam footage through the Empire’s database and it yielded no results. Even with a low quality holo, there should be a match, and if there is no current person in the database who matches that image then it will display the closest match available. The fact that _no_ results showed up... it suggests that this person’s identity is being hidden or has been erased.”

“Fuck it,” Gimrizh says, practically slamming her mug down on the hall’s pristine marble countertops, “She’s going to be guarding Vector at that ball thing we’re being forced to go to tomorrow, right?”

“As far as I know, yes,” he agrees.

“Then I’ll just _ask_ her. To hell with all this secrecy bullshit,” she declares, "I am so damn tired of always having enemies everywhere I look."

He didn't think of that. Perhaps there are downsides to living a life of secrecy and espionage in that the direct route can be the last considered. It might work too, and there's no chance in hell he's got the kind of skill to find a person that doesn't exist, not if they can delete themselves from the Empire's databases without a trace.

The implications of what it would take to pull off such a feat are staggering. _Everyone_ is in the Imperial database, even the vast majority of Republic citizens. He knows they even have a number of SIS agents flagged and identified - Imperial Intelligence is vastly superior to its Republic counterpart. He's tempted to insider the possibility that she works for the Csilla secret police, a notoriously shady and undocumented organization. That theory doesn't sit quite right with him though, and he isn't satisfied with an assumption. Like Lord Gimrizh, he knows the mystery will nag at him until he has a definitive answer.

"That may very well work," he considers, "And I regret to inform you that I'm at a loss for how to continue my own investigation into the matter. I could follow Vette's example and hire a bounty hunter, but that wouldn't give us the information before tomorrow night."

She laughs weakly into her mug, "Don't let Vette hear you say that."

Ah, no he most certainly will _not_. The Twi'lek has a large enough ego as it is, he's not going to make her even more insufferable. "I agree with you there, my lord. There is one more matter for you to consider, at the event tomorrow you will likely be asked to name a successor to Stanel Andaren. I doubt you will want to take his place as a diplomat permanently."

"Alright." She drags a hand through her hair, tugging on the thin brown strands with frustration, "I'll look at people in House Thul - presuming that the negotiations will continue to be held on Alderaan, that is?"

Given that the Killik representative is based on Alderaan and that Gisselle Organa seems certain to make a nuisance of herself, he'd say yes. "That does seem the most likely possibility."

“Fun,” she says sarcastically, “I’ll take a look at any promising diplomats House Thul has tonight and contact any hopefuls tomorrow morning. Maybe I can find one that isn’t hiding a secret alien-joiner-child. Oh, and please let me know when and if Stanel Andaren gets charged with any actual crimes, and I’ll celebrate accordingly.”

Malavai covers his laugh with a cough, “I’ll make sure to include a bottle of wine with the memo then, shall I?”

“Well we are on Alderaan,” she says, a faint grin on her lips, “it would be appropriate. I’m not going to turn down free Alderaanian wine, you know. So that, a new diplomat… is there anything else I need to do for tomorrow?”

The answer of ‘no’ is his first response but then he recalls an old conversation with Vette and wonders, “Do you have any appropriate clothing?”

She pauses, “What, like armour?”

“Er…  more like a dress, my lord,” he explains, trying to act like it’s normal for him to consult with her regarding what she wears. It’s difficult enough that she tends to forgo wearing a shirt when off duty, which is quite distracting, to say the least. It does make sense that she wouldn’t know, he doubts that she’s ever attended an event that would require her to dress up. He has a formal uniform, but he doesn’t think she even owns a dress. “It’s a formal event, so your usual combat wear would be… out of place.”

“Fuck,” she swears, “Where can I buy a dress?”

They _are_ in a less developed city than the main House Thul. “I don’t know if there would be any appropriate retailers in Juranno,” he says. A thought occurs to him, “I suppose… “

She has apparently come to the same conclusion, “Vette.” With a sigh, she pulls out her holo and punches in Vette’s number, “Oh, I’m going to hate myself for this later.”

~*~

“Delivery!” Vette says in a sing-song voice, banging her fist against Gimrizh’s bedroom door.

Damn, they’ve got a nice thing set up with House Thul. No matter what city they’re in, whether it’s the main mansion-city or this weird, partially bombed mess Juranno, it seems like Thul always finds the swankiest places to put them up in. She could really get used to living a life of high style, especially when it means her _job_ is being sent on a last minute shopping mission.

Gimrizh yanks the door open, takes one look at the dress bag in her hands and asks, “Should I panic now, or wait till I’ve seen what you bought?”

Fancy shopping trip, yes. The sarcasm though, that she could do without. “Now, I guess,” she replies with a grin, forcing her way into the suite and laying the - incredibly expensive _holy fuck_ \- dress down on the plush sofa, “Get it out of the way early and all that. Although really, I am the best, I found this beauty this morning and paid extra for the rush tailoring job - I guessed your sizes by the way, but I know I got them right.”

Looking like she’s handling a live thermal detonator, Gimrizh slowly opens the bag. “It’s black,” she comments, sighing with relief.

“Black _and_ red,” Vette points out, “I went for a traditional Sithy-vibe, all the better to scare the pants of some puffed up dignitaries, right?”

“At least it’s not pink,” she agrees.

No confidence in Vette’s skills at all, honestly. Of course she could pick the best krething dress on Alderaan, and she could do it blindfolded, too. Well, maybe not blindfolded, but she could do it in her sleep. Point is it’s easy. “I’m the _best_ ,” she emphasises, “Even if you get to be all princessy and go to a ball, I’m still the _best_.”

Gimrizh rolls her eyes, “It’s a formal diplomatic event, it’s hardly a ‘princessy ball’.”

Vette holds up a single finger, ready to absolutely crush this argument, “Is there music and dancing?”

“Probably -”

Two fingers are tallied, “Are you wearing a fancy fucking dress to it?”

“You did just buy one, so obviously -”

“Then it’s a ball, and all you’re missing is a crown, princess,” she teases, making her point flawlessly. “I hear that House Panteer’s lost one, actually, so if you happen to find that while you’re out -”

Gimrizh huffs, “That’s not really the most apropriate joke, now is it?”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time around captain tightwad if that’s how you’re talking,” Honestly, Vette has been right about those two since like… _Tatooine._  She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively, “Been doing anything good during that time?”

The dress gets swept up into Gimrizh’s arms and she points at the door with her free hand, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a ridiculously over the top dress to try on.”

“Good luck!” Vette yells over her shoulder as she’s promptly booted out of the room, “Or should I say ‘get lucky’?”

The door is slammed shut.

She proudly dusts off her hands - mission ‘tease Gimrizh for being a blind idiot’ successful. Now if that idiot girl will actually do something, that’s a bit out of her control.

Vette saunters down the hall to where Jaesa is standing in front of the elevator, “I think that went well,” she reports.

“She slammed the door in your face,” Jaesa reminds her.

“Yup,” Vette says, “I think I made one too many ‘princess’ comments.”

Jaesa - bless her - doesn’t get the joke, “Why would my master be a princess? Alderaan is supposed to have a royal family, but the whole _point_ of this civil war is that we don’t anymore. It’s not as though there are going to be any surviving members of the royal family at the function my master’s attending.”

“No, no,” Vette explains, “The joke is that it’s not a ‘function’ it’s a _ball_. She’s going to a _ball_. Like a princess in a story, you know? Where an angel from Iago swoops in and turns the broken skyhopper into a luxury speeder? And it’s all shiny and ladies in pretty dresses and I think there’s something about a prince that gets turned into an acklay?”

“I don’t think it’s going to be anything like that,” Jaesa replies, “I’ve attended similar state functions as a handmaiden, and they’re usually rather dull.”

Yeah, Vette kinda figured. That’s why she’s not nipping at Gimrizh’s heels to be allowed to go. The boss will probably have a great time with captain stuffy and Vette can spend the evening doing something far more entertaining, “So, then what are our plans for tonight?”

Jaesa thinks on it for a moment and then lights up, her eyes as bright as the first ray’s of Ryloth’s sun when it first crests over the horizon, “I think I may have an idea.”

~*~

The blank input field labeled ‘passcode’ has been staring at Foris for the past half hour as he gets progressively more and more tipsy. Fucking every single piece of data he got from the captain’s room is locked and he’s hesitant to just start trying passphrases at random in case there’s a limit that he maxes out.

He takes another liberal gulp of beer and decides that there’s nothing for it. He’s going to have to get some help on this one.

Tossing a credit chip on the bar counter, he makes his way out of the shitty cantina and into the dark streets of House Thul, a few light fixtures and the moon illuminating his way towards somewhere a bit more private.

He pulls out his holo and dials a number that he hasn’t called in ages.

It takes a few rings, but finally the familiar figure steps into the blue holo field, “Pierce?”

“Tanido,” he says, giving a brief nod in greeting to one of his oldest friends from black ops, before everything went to shit and they got disbanded, “It’s been a while. Sorry I haven’t kept in touch - been busy. I need a favor.”

“Figured,” Tanido says lightly, “What’d you need?”

Foris plugs the datastick containing the stolen files into his holo and sends the thing over, “Take a look at what I’m sending you. Could do with a second pair of eyes. Slicing’s never really been my area of expertise.”

“It’s not exactly mine, either,” Tanido comments. His eyes read over something that Foris can’t see and he scratches his head thoughtfully, “Dunno what I can tell you, this thing’s pretty heavily encrypted. Whoever did it is good, but no pro. I can’t slice it, I don’t think, you could probably hire a contractor to do it if you’re desperate. All I can tell you is it looks like it’s set so that if you enter the wrong passcode three times in a row, the whole thing auto-erases. So uh… be careful, I guess. I got nothing else. Sorry.”

So he has three tries. Could be worse. “I can work with that,” he replies, “Thanks for the info.”

“Hey, no problem,” Tanido says with a shrug, “What are old friends for?”

“I’ll comm you sometime, see about getting the gang back together,” he promises, “There’s a war going on now. They’ll need people like us.”

Tanido gives a twitchy little smile, “That’s the dream, ain’t it? See you around.”

The holo dies and Foris tucks it away again. Well that’s the thick of it then. Three tries to prove that the captain’s up to something shady and then he’s back to square one. That’s no death sentence, just a minor inconvenience. Besides, he’s damn certain that he’ll find some kind of dirt on the captain, it’s just a matter of time.

On a whim, Foris opens the input field again and types in _horizon_.

It fails. Really, he’d rather been expecting that, but it’s good to rule out the obvious. Two tries left and then he’ll have proof.

~*~

_Jaesa Willsaam encountered the unknown Jedi agent on accident beforehand, alerting the Jedi to our mission on Hoth. While Jaesa did inform both myself and Lord Gimrizh, we incorrectly presumed that the Jedi had been unable to gain any useful information from Jaesa’s mind and thus proceeded with the plan unchanged -_

No, that’s wrong.

Malavai taps his stylus against the edge of his datapad, drumming out a thin, rapid beat as he tries to gather his thoughts. He’s noticed that Gimrizh tends to prefer tactile stimulation when deep in thought, running her petite fingers through her hair or over the grain of her clothes. He’s always prefered percussive distractions himself, tapping or pacing, although he’s tried to bleach both habits from himself, unprofessional as they are. Everything about him seems to be unprofessional these days. He’s losing control and it’s _unacceptable_.

His eyes skim what he’s wrote so far. It’s technically correct, everything he’s just put down is true but it sounds wrong. It reads like a conviction against Jaesa, pinning the blame on her instead of on his shoulders where it belongs.

The failure of the operation is his fault alone. Gimrizh placed him in charge, and he failed. It’s that simple. Whatever comes as a result of his work for Baras, he isn’t going to throw anyone on the crew under the speeder for his own damn mistakes.

He checks his chrono and startles at how late it is. He should have been paying closer attention to the time instead dawdling over a few lines in a report.

Actually - he expected Lord Gimrizh to be leaving by now. There’s just been dead silence throughout the place for the past half hour. And again, he didn’t krething notice, like the idiot that he apparently is. He takes one last look at the unfinished, poorly written excuse for a report that Baras has been asking for and leaves it on the table.

“My lord?” he asks, knocking on her door.

“Leave!” comes the muffled reply, “I’m _not_ going!”

Oh dear. He tries to lean in and listen through the vents in the doorway, “My lord, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Everything is fine just - just go away!”

He should actually, it is an order - he should just follow her orders like he’s supposed to, but it would be highly irresponsible to just leave her with what’s obviously a problem. And he doesn’t _want_ to leave her alone anyway. “I’m going to come in,” he says calmly, “If you really don’t want to my help, use the force to lock the door.”

There’s silence. He tries the door and it slides open without protest.

Relieved, he steps into her room to see her standing furiously in front of a mirror, her hands curled into tight fists and shaking, as though she’s holding herself back from punching something.

“This is ridiculous,” she mutters, “I am _not_ in the mood to go to some stupid and frivolous Alderaanian party and be laughed at - Tell Aitalla Girard that she can announce her own damn promotion, what do I need to be there for?”

Sifting through what she just said, he picks out the one piece that seems to be too raw and honest for it to be just pique, “What makes you think anyone there would laugh at you?”

She whirls around and angrily gestures at herself, “Look at me - what do you _think_ they’d do?”

He finally notices that she’s wearing the dress Vette brought over. It’s floor length, made of black silk with geometric red patterns over the front and hem, surprisingly rather similar to some old Sith designs. He’s not seeing the problem, it’s luxurious enough to fit in well at an Alderaanian event, suites her quite well, and she looks… shockingly stunning. “I don’t often have cause to disagree with you so vehemently, my lord, but this is the exception.”

“I look like a nexu stuffed into a dress,” she grumbles, her voice painfully raw in a way that makes him stumble.

“That’s not true,” he says firmly.

She glares at him, “I have _horns_ , Quinn, I look _absurd_. Normally I can manage to look at least like I’m _supposed_ to, but this,” she laughs in a dry, flat tone, “It’s a farce. I’m supposed to be terrifying - not this flowery rich thing.”

What, because she’s a Sith? No - he recalls a months old conversation, lodged in his mind as one of the first times she surprised him and concludes that it has little to do with her chosen occupation and everything to do with who she is. For the first time, part of him wishes Vette were here, if only because she seems predisposed to deal with this particular problem. “Who told you that?” he asks carefully.

“I’ve had it spelled out to me my whole life,” she says, real venom and old injury in her voice, “I’m not an idiot. I know what I am.”

Malavai sighs and gently picks up her hand, uncurling her fingers from where her nails have started to gouge into her palms, “ _Who_ you are doesn’t have to be anything, you can be and look however you wish. Yes, you’re a Sith, yes, you’re a Zabrak, and my lord, you’re beautiful. No one would _ever_ laugh at you.”

She turns her head away and looks at the mirror, her golden eyes staring at something he doesn’t think he can see, some despised imperfection that only makes her more lovely.

“Can I bring my lightsabers?” she says at last.

He can’t quite stop his smile as he replies, "I'd like to see them attempt to stop you.”

“I-” she pauses, swallows, and then slowly - perhaps, he thinks, reluctantly - tugs her hand out of his, “Give me ten minutes. I’ll be ready.”

“Of course, my lord,” he replies, giving her a formal bow before leaving and letting the door shut behind him.

He’s never been overly concerned with speciesism before. It’s part of the official Imperial platform and it isn’t really something that affects _him_. Logically, he knows that there are a number of useful reasons for the laws, scapegoat based propaganda, the ready availability and low cost of slave labour, and, with the notable exception of the Chiss, sub-species tend to be less educated and less effective in the same positions as their human or pureblood counterparts. He _knows_ there are reasons, because there have to be.

If her overwhelming anger and outrage at the possibility of her being anything other than a violence-driven Sith comes from a well of internalized hatred for her own species, well…  It makes far more sense than he would like to admit. With a flinch, he remembers that Zabraks are considered to be an aggressive and brutish species, suited for manual labor or sold into semi-legal fighting dens across both Hutt and Imperial space. She shouldn’t have to feel that way, but she _does_ and he’s uncertain what he can do about it.

He glances back down at his datapad, half an unfinished report and increasingly annoyed messages from Baras staring back at him.

After a moment of consideration, he deletes the entirety of it and starts typing.

_The failure on Hoth was entirely the result of my own refusal to take every source of information into account when planning for the attack, and I take full responsibility for the disaster -_

~*~

This is ridiculous. Why she let Quinn talk her into actually attending this damn thing is a mystery that she’s still trying to figure out. She doesn’t need to be here, and she _still_ looks so out of place for stars sake, even if the lightsabers at her side make her feel a bit better. At least people know that she’s Sith at a glance, and keep out of her way.

“Is there anyone else I have to say hello to?” she asks Quinn under her breath.

She’s tightly hanging onto his arm as one noble after the other comes up to her and tries to worm their way into her good graces. It’s a parade of rich idiots that think they’re different than all the others and they’re so special and if they compliment her enough somehow she’ll believe that they’re force’s gift to the galaxy. Some of them make their introductions short and swift, just as uncomfortable with it all as she is, but some make her hate the entire krething system with their overblown pomp and puffed up sense of importance.

He leans in an extra inch to whisper, so close that she can feel the ghost of his breath on her ear and shivers. She can’t tell if he’s too close or not close enough, to be honest. “The gentleman in the red coat, Yuran Killesa, he works with Gisselle Organa in the effort to secure peace negotiations between the two main Houses. He’s allied with House Thul, but is an outspoken supporter of a neutral Alderaan and well-known for despising both the Republic and the Empire.”

“Do you just memorize all this for fun?” she asks, trying to get rid of the mynocks fluttering around in her stomach.

“I read over the guest list, my lord,” he replies calmly.

Of course he did, because he’s so damn prepared for everything all the time and she just shows up like the hot mess she is. “Have you seen that Chiss woman anywhere?”

He glances over the massive ballroom one more time, “Not yet. I will inform you the moment I do.”

“Fine,” she gives in, “Let’s go talk to Killesa and I can thoroughly berate him for not supporting the Empire.”

They make their way over to where Killesa and two other dukes are talking, apparently unaware that they’ve just garnered her attention.

“Yuran Killesa,” she says, keeping her voice too sweet for the man’s comfort, “I’ve heard all about your efforts to unify Alderaan -” _against the Empire_ “ - and I just had to introduce myself, especially since you’re working so closely with Gisselle.”

She catches Quinn’s flicker of a smirk as she purposefully leaves Gisselle’s last name off. It’s a new game to her, but she’s actually not too bad at politics if she does say so herself. Part of her hates it, but there’s a certain something to the highbrow snubbing and snide commentary of it all, it’s so underhanded that it’s both entertaining and a power trip at the same time.

Killesa bows elegantly as his two compatriots indelicately excuse themselves from the conversation, “Lord Gimrizh, Captain Quinn, I’d hoped to meet you this evening. I heard there was a bit of an incident during yesterday’s proceedings?”

That’s a light way of putting it - Stanel Andaren had been returned to House Thul in chains and is probably going to be stripped of title or something for what amounts to betraying the Empire for personal biased reasons when the whole point of his job is to remain unbiased. “Nothing we couldn’t handle,” she says flippantly.

“Stanel Andaren merely overstepped his bounds as a diplomat of the Empire,” Quinn adds, much more pointedly, “Given the financial support that the Empire is giving House Thul, it was an ill-conceived move on his part to antagonize both the Lord Gimrizh and the Killik emissary, a former member of the Imperial Diplomatic Services.”

Killesa clears his throat, “Yes, well Stanel was never the fastest ship in the hangar bay.”

“It was a poor mistake, wasn’t it?” Quinn comments sharply.

“There are always idiots, no matter where you are,” the diplomat tries, probably somewhat regretting this conversation now, “Stanel Andaren may have been wrong in his decision to put his own daughter above the Empire, but he did it out of concern for his family. Surely supporting the wrong thing for the right reasons - family, planet, love - is more understandable and shouldn’t be labeled as treason?”

Oh watching this almost makes up for that last baron who tried shake her hand three times in a row. “Doing the wrong thing for the right reason, as you put it,” Quinn begins, “may be more reasonable, but you are still in the wrong.”

Gimrizh smiles insincerely, “Thank you for your time, I do so hope to hear more of your work on Alderaan. Aitalla Girard has promised to keep in touch, you see. Good evening.”

With a wave of her fingers, she lets Quinn steer her away to a different part of hall, leaving Killesa to sweat and, hopefully, rethink a few of his stances.

Once they’re far enough away, she laughs, “Stars, did you see his face?”

“I do hope he’s reconsidering his more vocal protests against the Empire,” Quinn remarks, a smile on his lips. “It would be a pity if he didn’t get the message.”

She chokes down the last burst of laughter and tries to act more serious, “Alright, that one wasn’t so bad. Anyone else interesting, or just more bootlicking assholes that act like they’re trying to steal everything I own?”

“You haven’t met the representative from House Baliss yet,” he replies, “but they’re hardly a player in the grand scheme of things and they haven’t done anything more than pick at the remainders of greater houses like shyracks. I doubt it would be a productive use of your time.”

“This entire event hasn’t been a productive use of my time and I still haven’t seen that damn Chiss woman _or_ Vector Hyllus,” she grumbles.

As entertaining at that little encounter had been, she still has sort of a goal here. A goal besides not strangling herself at the end of the evening, that is.

“Why don’t you get some fresh air, my lord?” Quinn offers and stars she is _so_ damn grateful it’s ridiculous, “I’ll find Aitalla Girard and start moving things forward for her commencement speech. When things are ready, I’ll let you know. Does that sound alright?”

She practically swoons in relief, “That is the best thing I’ve heard anyone say all night.”

Shamelessly escaping onto the deserted balcony really is the greatest event that’s happened to her all day. She leans against the railing and sighs.

From up here, the city of Juranno looks like nothing more than a circuit board. Tiny bright lights glitter about in the blackness, flickering like fire or burning with the steady consistency of electric fixtures. Just at the edges of the city are the stunning mountains, the city designed in such a manner as to give the illusion that the hills are growing into the buildings, or vice versa, the line between civilization and idyllic wilderness blurring.

At night, when the destroyed ruins of the lower levels and the fire damage to the surrounding areas can’t be seen, it’s hard to imagine that this place was ever a war zone. Only a scant decade ago Sith and Imperial forces had ravaged this valley only to ultimately be defeated by Satele Shan herself, now a living legend.

Gimrizh had just been a girl then, too small to really understand the implications of the war. It had always seemed a far off thing that was inevitable in the same way that growing up is. She’d been told she’d join the war and fight and die for the glory of the Sith and the Empire and she’d just assumed that it would happen one way or another. Restarting the war herself was never something she thought she’d have done.

What would her younger, more naive self think of what she’s done? She can’t come up with an answer. She’d been so focused on simply becoming a Sith back then. Even now, she’s not considering the larger struggles that define the galaxy. She can laugh at those politicians back inside, but they’re dealing with the big issues while she runs and hides from them and devotes her energy towards simple survival.

There’s a flicker in the force that screams danger at her even as she can hear or see nothing. She pushes herself up and whirls around, hands already on her lightsabers.

It’s the Chiss woman. She’s hovering by the balcony entrance, her silvery dress blending into the night, giving the illusion that she could just turn into the shadows like a phantom.

“I heard that you’re looking for me?” she asks. Her voice is a blank. It’s got an unmistakable Dromund Kaas accent to it, but that’s it. It isn’t emotionless, instead Gimrizh gets the impression that it could be whatever emotion she chooses at a second’s notice, the voice of a consummate actress.

Gimrizh lets her hands fall, enough to seem like she’s relaxing, still close enough to draw if needed, “Who told you that?”

She scoffs, “I don’t need people _telling_ me things to figure out the obvious. You’re not very bright, are you?”

“I could say the same to you,” Gimrizh replies, “Insulting a Sith Lord isn’t usually considered a clever move. I’d say you’re overconfident, but I’ve seen you in combat. Can you do the same without the element of surprise?”

The Chiss smiles like a vibroknife, all sharp edges, “I have.”

A burst of fear runs through her veins at that, failing to be squashed down fully, “And would you do so again?” she asks, “You were introduced as an Imperial, but I’m not going to take that at face value. Where do your loyalties really lie? If you wanted me dead, or indeed, any Sith dead, what would stop you from doing again what you say you’ve already done?”

Turning her nose up at the comment, the Chiss sniffs haughtily, “You Sith, so self-centered.”

“Some are, yes,” Gimrizh readily agrees, some instinct trying to placate what she perceives as a threat.

“All are,” she counters, “You stomp through the galaxy and make a mess of things wherever you go, sparing not a thought for anyone else. I know everything about you, Lord Gimrizh, because you are _loud_. You hunted down Jedi Karr like a nexu ripping through the forest. You walk loudly whenever Darth Baras points you at a target. And then you Sith have the gall to accuse others of incompetence?”

Gimrizh replies coolly, “You do talk rather impressively for someone who doesn’t exist.”

The Chiss glares at her, blank red eyes boring unnervingly into hers, “Tell me who the Star Cabal was.”

The what? Maybe it’s a bluff, “Never heard of them.”

“Exactly,” she replies, a smug and menacing grin marring her face. Gimrizh notices two old scars running through her lips and the first thing she thinks of is that it looks like someone tried to stitch her mouth shut and failed. The Chiss woman leans in an inch closer, “You’ve never heard of the Star Cabal because I did my job.”

The woman pulls away and Gimrizh can only think ‘ _thank fuck that woman’s on our side’_. “Do I get a name?”

“No. Learn to tread quietly, loud Sith,” she taunts as she glides away, “Hunters can track your footsteps easily.”

The Chiss vanishes back inside, stepping between a dancing couple and seamlessly disappearing into the crowd. Gimrizh sags against the railing and lets out a deep breath that she’s been holding tightly to her chest since the woman arrived.

“Great,” she mutters to herself, staring up at the sky, “fucking _great_.”

~*~

“Come on, come on!” Jaesa says, bouncing excitedly as she leads Vette through the winding city allies, “It’s just up ahead, I can sense them!”

The dirty, partially bombed streets of the lowest levels of Juranno feel like home. They remind Vette of Nar Shaddaa, shady and dangerous, but full of possibilities and treasures to those who know how to navigate them. Bright neon signs flicker and die around them and their footsteps splash in month old rain puddles, the water only just now trickling down from the high spacescrappers that tower over the slums.

Jaesa tugs her through a series of smaller and smaller backstreets until they’re in maybe forty square feet of closed off pavilion. “Look,” she says, smiling proudly at the scene they’ve just arrived in.

The place is packed with people, humans, Twi’leks, Nautolans, you name it. There’s a huge garbage bin at the center that’s burning a stunning bonfire, warding off the dark and the cold of night that covers the rest of the city. A few musicians in a corner are producing the most beautiful music Vette’s ever heard, taking turns and competing with each other to the cheers of the crowd. It’s folk music, rich and lively, vibrating deep in her bones and making her want to tap her feet within the first few bars.

Everyone’s dancing, whirling around and around in the tight quarters, somehow missing collisions every time. Some are spinning in dazzling circles near the fire and some are less showy but every single person is moving perfectly in time to the beat. She can _see_ the rhythm play out right in front of her.

“Do you like it?” Jaesa asks nervously, like she’s waiting for Vette’s approval.

Vette grins at her, stunned, but happy, “I _love_ it!”

Needing no more encouragement, Jaesa grabs her hand and takes a step forward.

Suddenly, they’re in the dance too. It’s like stepping into a river, being swept up into the current and pulled along for the ride. It’s wild and fast paced and Vette’s got no idea what she’s doing, she’s just following Jaesa’s lead, and it’s _wonderful_. They step and twirl and soon they’re in the center circle of dancers, spinning crazy circles around the pillar of fire that burns away the darkness.

“How’d you know this would be here?” she asks, marveling at the brilliance of Jaesa. Because Vette doesn’t really plan, she just _does_ and yet Jaesa just knew that this would be here and guessed perfectly that Vette would love it and it’s _so_ damn impressive.

“Oh,” Jaesa says lightly, weaving them flawlessly around another couple that dances into their path, “These are everywhere in Alderaan. I’ve been to Juranno before, a city with this many slums is bound to attract bonfires. And there’s a party upside tonight, so that gives us better chances.”

That makes sense, “What better than to snub those rich bastards by having a better party than their expensive one, right?”

She laughs, a wonderful sound that Vette could listen to forever, “Quite right. So much of Alderaan is based in luxury, but the heart of it can’t be found in a gold hall.”

“You find it here,” Vette finishes, “In a slum.”

Because you do. There’s no music like this at a fancy rich party. Sure, there’s _money_ , and Vette never turns her nose up at that. There’s money and then there’s deceit and lies and ass-kissing and people wasting all their time on snubbing everyone else just to prove that they’re the best. It’s not what a planet _is_ , it’s not who it’s people really _are_. It’s just trappings stuck on top. This is what people are - in a slum in a bombed out city.

People are music, and dance, and living to spite rich bastards.

That’s what Vette’s all about, really. Sure, stealing things is a thrill and a rush, but half the fun is knowing that some puffed-up krething collector _isn’t_ going to get his hands on it. Spite and anger and laughing in people’s faces.

“This part of Alderaan isn’t so bad, is it?” Vette teases, part of her still worried that Jaesa’s suffering by being here, in a place that holds probably some bad memories. A place that Jaesa saw as being full of lies. “Cause I could get used to this.”

They make two complete circles around the rotunda before Jaesa answers honestly, “No, it’s not. I’ve always loved this part of Alderaan. No politics, no lies, no pretense.”

Vette imagines Jaesa, years younger, living in the space between drum beats. “When I first met you I didn’t think you could be from Alderaan - Alderaan’s politics and fancy shit at first glance, you know? But I think it suits you. _This_ suits you.” She presses her palms against hers as they spin around each other, “It’s honest.”

"That's a greater compliment than I deserve," Jaesa says, avoiding her eyes as they move.

Vette wags her finger at her, "Nope, none of that. If you're not honest all the time it's cause you _can't_ be and there ain't no shame in that. There's never any shame in doing what you have to do."

"So wise," Jaesa remarks, a slow smile spreading across her lips, "You always know just what to say, don't you?"

"It's the smartass in me," she teases.

In the firelight, with the whirl of people around her and a grin on her face, Jaesa's never looked so radiant. Vette thinks that she could spend the rest of her life watching Jaesa smile.

Jaesa stops and pulls back, a discordant note in the music. Someone swears, almost crashing right into them and then the other dancers flow around them. There's a bright red blush coloring her cheeks, "Oh, I'm sorry - I wasn't trying to sense anything - I didn't use my power - I didn't mean to feel that -"

"Feel what?" Vette asks, confused.

"Forgive me," Jaesa mumbles, "I don't mean to presume, only the force doesn't lie and er - it was sort of a loud feeling."

Her heart skips a beat, "Feel what?" she repeats numbly.

"Er," Jaesa turns beet red and mumbles, "Forgive my presumption. I think, I believe, I _felt_ \- I - you care for me."

Oh.

Vette swallows a knot in her throat, "Yeah. I do. I understand - if you don't, it's fine, I wasn't going to say anything, I didn't - I forgot you could tell."

"No - I do!" Jaesa insists and oh stars did she really - did she just?

"You do?" she confirms, almost unable to comprehend - Jaesa, beautiful Jaesa, heart full of kindness, Jaesa who she could spend a thousand years with if the galaxy is kind enough to allow it. Jaesa, who's glowing like the sublight engines of a luxury cruiser, brighter than the shine of a distant sun.  

"I do," Jaesa says confidently and then she's getting closer and -

She presses a chaste kiss to Vette's lips, a soft, warm pressure that's there for just a wonderful second before it's gone.

Vette's grinning like an idiot when she pulls back but she doesn't care.

"Was that - okay?" Jaesa asks nervously, biting her lower lip.

"Okay - ? I - " Vette's mind is an ecstatic blank, "What'd you know, I'm finally at a loss for words."

Jaesa beams at her and yeah - this - this is _everything._

~*~

“I promise to put aside my personal ambitions to do my duty to my House, to House Thul, and to the Empire,” Aitalla Girard is saying.

It’s actually not a bad speech, in Malavai’s opinion. She keeps pulling back to her support of the Empire while tying it in with her support for House Thul. It could be a bit more subtle, as far as parallels go, but overall it’s not bad.

The Lord Gimrizh made a wise pick in choosing the woman. Aitalla is from a smaller House than Thul, no less noble and more out of the spotlight. A newcomer to the political scene, she’s managed to overthrow the former lord of her house with apparent ease and make her mark on House Thul in a short timescale. Gimrizh probably chose her for her Imperial ties and take-no-prisoners attitude, but it’s still a clever choice. And it sends the message to some of the smaller, vassal Houses that the Empire is perhaps more generous and charitable, more willing to overlook status in favor of skill, than it so often seems.

He looks over to where Gimrizh is standing rigidly next to him, her back as straight as a durasteel pole and her hands fisted in the fabric of her skirt. This event, a charade of wealth and power, suits her ill. It is by no means his favorite thing in the world either, but he has the advantage of past exposure and the privilege of knowing with complete surety that he both belongs and is welcomed here. Gimrizh doesn’t.

As Aitalla’s speech continues, the chrono hits midnight and Malavai’s datapad beeps.

Great, Baras is demanding another update. He takes a step back so as to not be rude and checks the message on the screen.

And yes, there are the messages from Darth Baras about his report and a few files regarding the Chiss woman that have turned up blanks, but there’s also another reminder that he’s almost forgot about. He remembers programing the date into his datapad when he first started working for the Lord Gimrizh and read over her file for the very first time.

Midnight, and Alderaan runs on galactic standard time.

Do they really need to be here for the rest of the night? Aitalla Girard seems to have things under control, and it isn’t as though Lord Gimrizh is actually answerable to any of these people. Talking to them and placating their concerns is just for show. Alderaan is an important player, but the Killik representative is already seeking the Empire’s favor over the Republic’s and now that Aitalla has control of the negotiations…

They’re not really superfluous. They still should stay, should play the game as it’s supposed to be played. The bright light of his screen blinks the reminder up at him.

Fuck it. He tucks his datapad away and puts a hand lightly on Gimrizh’s shoulder, “My lord, what would you say to departing a bit ahead of schedule?”

She laughs bitterly, “Stars, that would be amazing.”

“Meet me at the rooftop in fifteen minutes?” he suggests, “I have an idea that you might care for.”

“Alright,” she replies, sounding somewhat confused, but at least she’s agreed.

He makes his way through the crowd to the emptier servant’s halls. A few maids skitter past, arms laden with dirty dishes, before he finds someone heading to the kitchens.

Ten minutes later he arrives on the rooftop with a covered box.

A chill wind blows across the roof. It’s slowly but surely clearing away the thin cloud layer, revealing the bright light of the stars and the steady glow of the moon. The white light touches the tops of the mountains, reflecting off of the snow and making the tall peaks glimmer and shine in the darkness.

Gimrizh is sitting on the edge, her shoes lying next to her and her bare feet dangling over the side of the building. There’s a hitch in her shoulders every so often as he approaches, a slightly longer intake of breath that slowly trickles out, as if she’s consciously thinking about the action, and it reminds him of how she acted on Hoth to keep herself warm with the force.

He undoes the buttons of his outer jacket and drapes it over her shoulders. The box gets placed between the two of them as he takes a seat next to her.

“I’m fine,” she says, running her fingers over the hem of his jacket, “Really.”

She’s stopped the careful breathing she was using before. So he’d been right about it being a force technique. “So am I, my lord. Just because you _can_ use the force, doesn’t mean you should have to. Besides, as your medical officer, it would reflect poorly upon me if you were to catch a cold under my watch.”

“Ah,” she replies, the word an exhale of breath more than anything else. She stares out at the cityscape, a patchwork of lights like stars. “It’s beautiful up here.”

“I thought you’d like it,” he comments.

The way she loves stars translates well to the view from up here, or at least that’s what he thinks. He’s glad he was right.

He wishes he could stay up here forever, just the stars and the sky and her quiet, peaceful presence next to him. It’d be easier this way. Not having to worry about the war, or the Empire, or Darth Baras. It would be pleasant, even though he knows that neither of them are made for a life of peace and inactivity. The both of them are built for wartime.

“What’s in the box?” she asks after a long moment of companionable silence.

He gives her a small smile and lifts off the top of the box, revealing a tray of tiny cakes that he’d managed to snag from the platters down in the kitchens. If he’d had the time, he would have gladly baked her something from scratch. He’d have made her whatever she asked for and he’s not sure what to do with that thought.

“It’s poor form for you to not have cake today,” he tells her.

Her mouth falls open, soft lips forming a silent ‘oh’ as she counts the days in her head, “I’d forgotten,” she whispers.

“Happy twenty-second birthday, my lord.”

"Thank you." She lies down on her back, letting her bare feet dangle off the rooftop. Her short hair pools around her head like a halo - with the city lights and the stars illuminating her, she looks - Malavai cuts off that line of thought right then and there. Above all else, she is his lord, his commanding officer, he can't think such things about her. 

Even though she’d hated attending this party, and hated the dress she’s wearing now, Malavai can see comfort working it’s way into her eyes. She reaches over to grab a tiny triangle of lemon cake, shoving it into her mouth without the slightest hint of decorum.

It’s shockingly endearing.

She reaches up, her right hand tracing invisible patterns through the night sky. " _That’s_ Korriban,” she points out lazily.

Instead of lying down next to her, he cranes his neck to look up at the stars as she points them out. His sense of decorum has held out in that respect. “Just behind it, a little to the left - that’s Dromund Kaas.”

“Ah, yes.” She hums contentedly, “You were born on Dromund Kaas, right? Did you ever live anywhere else?”

He shakes his head, “No. Not until I left for service and then…” His finger trails far, far to the right, so far that he can barely even see it, “Balmorra.” There’s more venom behind the name than he had meant. Ten wasted years of his life. Time he’ll never get back. The things he could have accomplished, the strides he could have made for the Empire - he could have met Gimrizh sooner.

A thin, treasonous line whispers through his thoughts like smoke. He could have joined Gimrizh’s crew before Baras ordered him to. He could have been under her service without… It isn’t worth thinking about. There’s nothing that can be done to change things.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. She looks away from Balmorra and randomly throws her arm to the left, pointing to the opposite end of the sky, “What’s that one, over there?”

“Brentaal, I think.”

“Really? I once fought against a ship named _Brentaal Star_.”

Malavai’s heard the name before. A Republic corvette-class, a defensive transport ship. “When was this?”

“Just after I left Korriban,” she replies, “I had no money to get to Dromund Kaas, and Baras hardly cared enough to commander me proper transport, so it was just whatever Vette managed to scrounge up - I didn’t ask how. She told me that a cargo ship was leaving from Ord Radama and would take passengers for free, so we hopped on a transport to there that was only ten credits. Thirty credits per person for a direct trip to Dromund Kaas - an obvious choice.”

“Did Darth Baras really not…?”

“I’m a Zabrak, if you’ve forgotten. And a Korribanil. And at the time I was still registered as an Acolyte, so transport wasn’t free. Besides, I think he views every struggle I go through as a test. Why would he offer help?”

“Of course. My apologies, my lord, please continue.”

“Oh. Well. Solar winds scrambled the nav, threw the cargo ship - _Black Talon_ \- off course, and we got too close to the Hydian Way. Almost hit the _Brentaal Star_ face first, actually. Right away we got a holo from Grand Moff Kilran - I _know_ ,” she whispers reverently, the respect plain as day on her face. “Anyways, I ended up boarding the ship and capturing a war fugitive that the Republic had been trying to extradite from Imperial Space.”

“Quite a story.” Numerous questions flit through his head, but this isn’t the time to prod at her for answers. There’s a peacefulness upon her that he’s seen rarely as of late. Given that the war has begun anew, he doubts that she’ll have moments like these with much frequency in the coming years.

She laughs, “I was terrified the entire time.”

And yet she succeeded regardless. She never ceases to impress him. Everything about her makes him stop and stare, from her fear to her passion, her fierce will to survive on the battlefield - even the littlest of things like the way she runs her hands through the snow here on Alderaan. He finds himself intrigued by her at every turn, even when he knows he shouldn’t be and firmly tells himself that it’s nothing more than curiosity and a desire to fulfil his orders as best as possible.

“You must have impressed Grand Moff Kilran,” Malavai finds himself saying. Because how could she _not_?

“Perhaps.”

“I assure you, my lord, you are a most impressive Sith.”

He thinks he can see redness spread across her cheeks, but in the nighttime and with her tattoos, it’s impossible to tell for sure. “So,” she says, clearing her throat and pointing up above her to a random star, “That one there. Is that Felucia?”

A knot forms in Malavai’s throat. “Ah, no. Felucia is just behind… I suppose we can’t see it. That star is - it’s Rhen Var.”

The planet is meaningless to Gimrizh - as it should be. For her, he supposes it’s just another battle, a date stamp and a detached examination of the outcome. “I remember studying that planet after the battle. The battle there almost cost us the war. For a brief moment, at least. It didn’t take us long to recover.”

It took Malavai much longer than the Empire.

“When the Institute heard about it,” Gimrizh continues, “none of us knew if it meant that the war would be coming to Korriban. If the Republic could get that far into Imperial Space then… Why not Dromund Kaas, or Korriban, or Ziost? It made things real for us, it made the consequences real, and it made me quite aware of what I was being raised to become. It was lucky that the war didn’t get much closer than that.” She laughs, but it’s forced, “I guess Satele Shan realized that she’d probably lose her head if she pushed further.”

“Yes, she would have,” Malavai replies, practically snarling the words before he tries to temper his voice. It isn’t Gimrizh’s fault. He doesn’t want her to see his anger.

She gently rests her hand over his and only then does he realize that his nails are digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood. “If you ever do try and kill Satele Shan,” she says - and how did she know that’s exactly was he was thinking of  - “I’ll be there. That’s a sight I’d really love to see. Her, defeated, and you with a blaster to her head.”

“Head?” He raises an eyebrow. “Oh no, I’d draw it out.”

She smirks up at him, “She deserves no less.”

It occurs to him then that falling in love with Gimrizh would be easier than breathing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we've met Cipher Nine, who's finished all her arcs cause she gets shit DONE. Also, I tried very hard to have no ocs in this besides her, Stanel Andaren and Daria are cannon from a side quest on Alderaan, and Aitalla Girard is from the Bounty Hunter storyline. I think the only person I made up is Yuran Killesa, and even then House Killesa is a real thing so.  
> As always, I am a comment-based lifeform!


	14. Battle of the Maelstrom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took shocking little time to write, so hey you guys get two chapters this month after all!  
> This chapter, aka: Chocolate, both Gimrizh and Quinn kinda have a crush on Grand Moff Rycus Kilran, and oh shit everyone fucked up

Four figures run through the halls of the Taral V research facility.

Four _Jedi_.

Aboard the orbiting _Emperor’s Glory_ , Grand Moff Rycus Kilran observes the security feed from the fortress below. A sunstar X-37 oppressor droid is en route to confront the group of Jedi and he’s curious to see how they’ll do. The answer is laughably well, two of the Jedi draw the droid’s attention while the other two take it down in a few easy strikes. No matter, he’s never banked all his hopes on a single droid.

The group hits the bulkhead walls and pauses to slice into the door panel. Rycus takes advantage of their brief halt to focus the image, zooming in on the figures.

One is easily identified as Thutrel Rineth, a Jedi well known as the ‘Hero of Tython’, who’s accompanied by his not quite so renowned but still infamous padawan, Kira Carsen. Both are an irritation even if they aren’t on the same level as their companion. The second padawan, a pale faced girl is of no consequence. Her master on the other hand… Rycus is very familiar with the Barsen’thor of the Jedi Order.

They do have something of a history, after all, and he’s followed her career after their altercation regarding Ambassador Asara. He’s been meaning to properly thank her for that for some time now.

“Prep the ship for an attack,” he orders.

His lieutenant gives a sharp salute before relaying the command to the weapons deck.

Perhaps it’s time to greet his old friend. He interfaces into the facility’s holo. With the touch of a button, he connects the comms over to the corridor that this little group of Jedi have made their way to.

“Master Celebris,” he begins, “I’ve followed your career with some interest since last we met. Barsen’thor already? It’s an impressive accomplishment for someone of your age.”

“Pleasantries are meaningless. You shall not keep the Gree computer from us, Kilran,” Celebris informs him in that cold tone of hers that he’s just dying to break.

He smirks, “Oh, I can try my best. I thought it would be polite to inform you - my ships are about to bomb the facility that you’ve fought so hard to infiltrate. I admit, you’ve been rather a thorn in my side. Savour the moment. In a few minutes, you and all your pathetic little friends shall be wiped off the face of this planet. It’s a pity that it ends this way, it’s been an absolute pleasure knowing you.”

On the screen, she throws her hand out and the bulkhead walls crumple. “This shall not stop me,” she declares.

The team of Jedi plunges deeper into the heart of the compound and he closes the feed. She’s been an interesting blip on his radar and now it’s time to end it. To be honest, even though he’s looking forward to savoring the satisfaction of digging her corpse out of the ruins, part of him would be a bit disappointed if she doesn’t survive. Oh well. Regardless of his desire to watch her like a womp rat in a maze, he can’t allow her access to the Maelstrom Prison.

“Begin the bombardment.”

~*~

Jaesa’s singing - actually singing as she stirs a cup of instant caff. Clearly, Gimrizh has missed something because why the hell is her apprentice singing? It’s a nice song though, crooning and cheerful, with lyrics that she can’t understand but could hum to herself all day. If she were so inclined that is, and of course she isn’t.

“What are you singing?” she asks, stepping into the galley. She moves around her apprentice to grab the box of caff and starts pouring the powder into a mug. It’s an early morning of surprisingly good sleep, but she’s likely to regret it later if she skips her morning cup of caff. She grinds a couple of stim pills under her thumb and tosses them in too before adding water to the thick disaster of a drink.

Jaesa’s song cuts off mid-lyric. She blushes and flaps her hand around as she tries to explain, “Oh, it’s erm… it’s in Alda.”

“Yes that’s why I’m asking,” Gimrizh reiterates, “I can’t speak Alda. What does it say in basic - it’s a pretty song.”

“‘Our love tastes like chocolate’,” Jaesa mumbles, cheeks bright red, “It’s a love song, master.”

She almost chokes on her sip of caff. Well, there’s only one thing she can think of that she’s missed lately. It makes a lot of sense, her apprentice is practically _shining_ happiness through the force when she’s normally a bit more reserved. “So. You and Vette?”

“Oh,” Jaesa practically squeaks, “Um… you noticed?”

That’s an understatement. Sure, Gimrizh herself might not have picked up on it right away, but it was pretty damn obvious to Pierce. “I think that the entire crew, with the possible exception of Toovee, noticed. If it helps, I think you two will be good together.”

“Thank you, master,” she mumbles, trying to hide her face behind her mug. Gimrizh is content to let the conversation fall into silence, but apparently Jaesa’s happiness is leaking out of her, “She’s wonderful. I feel as though I could spend forever listening to her. And it’s… when she’s around… things make sense. She helps me see clearly. Do you know what I mean?”

Gimrizh awkwardly pats her on the shoulder, “I’m happy for you, but no, I don’t,” she replies and firmly does not think about anyone at all. She grabs a second mug of hot water and drops a tea bag in.

“Oh master,” Jaesa says with a sigh, half wistful romanticism and half unbearable and intolerable sympathy, “Everyone deserves a bit of chocolate.”

She scoffs. Chocolate _indeed_.

“Did I hear the word ‘chocolate’?” Vette asks cheerfully, skipping into the galley, “Do we actually have chocolate?” She practically rips the caff box out of Gimrizh’s hands as she waltzes over, “If you guys are eating chocolate without me, I shall be very put out, I want some.”

Jaesa grins at her. She leans over and presses a lingering kiss to Vette’s cheek, “There’s your chocolate.”

“I mean,” Vette flounders, a blush spreading across her blue cheeks, “I’m not protesting, but I’m still hoping there’s some actual chocolate around here,” she waves a hand at Gimrizh, “Seriously, you foodies should keep some krething chocolate on this ship. You and captain tightpants aren’t hoarding it all, are you?”

Gimrizh isn’t going to address that question. She picks up her half finished cup and the cup of tea, tosses the tea bag in the trash, and stomps out of the galley, “If you two are going to be sappy, then I’m leaving.”

“Plot a course to a planet with chocolate!” Vette yells behind her.

She rolls her eyes. Stars, those two. If she thought Vette was bad before, clearly she had not stopped to consider a Vette overly eager to impress Jaesa. In the end, she imagines that they’ll probably be good for each other. She cares deeply for both of them, even if she’s not prone to admitting such things, and would like for them to find some piece of happiness in the midst of this dreary and miserable war.

She heads across the hall to the engine room, draining her mug in the process. “Vette is demanding we head to a planet with chocolate,” she says.

Quinn’s kneeling in front of the massive sublight engines, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and engine grease smudged on his hands as he fiddles with something inside an open panel that she can’t see. “We’re still a week away from Dromund Kaas,” he replies exasperatedly, “and we aren’t stopping at any space stations on the way. Tell her no.”

“I didn’t even dignify it with a response,” she tells him, “I’m just informing you. I know better than to ask you to take Vette seriously.”

“That does make more sense.” He pulls out a short section of wire and absently holds out a hand, “Please pass me the laser burner, my lord.”

She presses the mug of tea into his hand instead. “It’s ten in the morning, Quinn. The engines can wait a few minutes, can’t they?”

“Ten in the morning is hardly early,” he protests, but accepts the tea anyway. He takes a sip and she can see him pointedly not saying anything.

“Yes, I used a tea bag, not loose leaf. It doesn’t matter, honestly, there’s no difference,” she picks up the laser burner and rolls the thin instrument between her fingers, “Also, we ran out of loose leaf three days ago. I know you didn’t say anything, but I could see you thinking it.”

He stutters, “I- well- yes, my lord, I was - but I wasn’t going to _say._ I suppose we _do_ need to restock once we land on Dromund Kaas.”

There’s a bang as the door opens, “My lord,” Pierce says, an unexpected burst of formality from the man. He looks not quite nervous, worried maybe, “Holo for you.”

“Is it Darth Baras?” she asks, putting down the laser burner. What in force’s name could Baras want right now? They’re already on route to Imperial Center, what can’t wait two krething days? Maybe there’s a time sensitive mission or something of that ilk. She assumed that he would assign her another mission similar to her task on Alderaan as part of his continued ‘punishment’ for her failure on Hoth.

“No,” Pierce says with a shake of his head, “It’s Grand Moff Rycus Kilran.”

Her jaw hangs open, “What.”

Quinn very slowly and carefully puts down his cup of tea, “My lord,” he says, “It will not do to keep the Grand Moff waiting.”

“Right, of course,” she snaps herself out of it and blinks, “Get Vette and Jaesa to join us, I’m on my way.”

She rushes out of the engine room with Quinn on her heels and down the hall to the floor-mounted ship holo. There’s the steadily blinking light that indicates a call has been placed on hold. She glances over her shoulder at her captain and then presses the button.

The infamous Grand Moff flickers into view, the blue light illuminating the room. “Ah, Gimrizh Korribanil. And now you’re a Lord. How things change,” Kilran says in his usual poised drawl.

“It has been a long time since we last met,” she cautiously agrees, “I was barely more than an acolyte then.”

“As a mere apprentice, a few days into your tenure as a Sith, you managed to do what an entire ship of Imperial soldiers couldn’t in your attack on _Brentaal Star_ ,” he reminds her, “Then of course, you became well known for your defeat of Jedi Karr and there are rumors that it was _you_ and not your master who hunted down the War Trust. I’m rather pleased to have known you when you were less renowned.”

She bows her head, “I do what is needed for the Empire.”

“Good,” he says firmly, “That’s why I am asking for you to rendezvous with my ship, the _Emperor’s Glory,_ as soon as you can. I’m gathering my section of the fleet in the Relgim Sector. If you decide to accept, I’ll forward the coordinates to your ship.”

The Relgim sector? There’s barely anything there, nothing worth fighting over, just a few barely inhabited worlds with little to no value. Why is Kilran gathering half the krething Imperial fleet over there? What could possibly warrant that level of firepower, a direct attack on the Republic’s fleet or something of that ilk?

“I-” she fumbles, “My master has ordered me back to Kaas City. I’m expected to return to the Citadel.”

Kilran turns his nose up at the suggestion that her struggles with Baras are worth his time, “I shall inform Baras that I requested your presence elsewhere. I’ve already withdrawn another Sith from the front lines for this mission. Your master shan’t have cause to protest.”

Another Sith? She’s not worked that closely with others besides her master since Korriban. There was the attack force on Hoth, but besides that, she’s had more contact with krething Jedi than other Sith. Sure, it would be interesting to work with other Sith, yet on the other hand, she has Jaesa to think about. Jaesa has been getting better at hiding her presence in the force, so there isn’t exactly a problem. There also isn’t _no_ cause for concern though.

“Who would I be working with?” she asks.

“Well,” Kilran replies with a calculating smirk, “You’d find out when you board my flagship, now wouldn’t you?”

That didn’t help at all, “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Over the holo?” he sneers, “Don’t be ridiculous. I can say that this mission will be unlike anything you’ve done before - if we fail, the Republic will gain a powerful asset in the war. If we succeed, we’ll have taken out the Barsen’thor of the Jedi Order. I believe you’ve already met her?” He pulls up an image on the holo of a stern looking Jedi woman -

 _The Jedi from Hoth_!

As much as she wishes that their paths will never cross again, she’s always known it wouldn’t be the case. Certainly not with someone as highly ranked as Barsen’thor. Not in this war. The real question is whether she’s ready to face that Jedi again. Her immediate answer is no, of course she's not. There’s no way that she can defeat that Jedi. Not as she is. If Kilran has some sort of plan, however… if she can put a second Sith between herself and that Jedi…

She’s both terrified of facing her again and desperate to pay her back for Hoth, for hurting Jaesa, for making her so afraid in the first place, “I accept.”

“Good,” Kilran presses a button she can’t see, “I’m transmitting the coordinates now. Leave immediately, if you’re to join this mission you must arrive as soon as possible.”

“Understood.” She bows as the holo call closes.

She looks over at her crew and tries to reach out with the force. After all, she’s not going into this fight alone. Pierce, as always, ready and willing to throw himself into another battle, eager for a chance to take out the Barsen’thor. Jaesa’s worried, a wavering fear and hesitance transmitted through the force. Vette is surprisingly angry, a similar anger to her own, directed towards the Barsen’thor for attacking Jaesa. Quinn - she can only ever get a surface reading from him, like skimming off the top of his emotions. It’s a result of both the tight control he has over himself at all times and her own incompetence and poor skill in the matter. But there’s a strong desire for glory in him, glory for the Empire.

Given the choice, she knows that they’d all follow her on this mission. She pulls back from the force as the strain starts to hurt. She’s not sure what she’s done to earn that loyalty - if it even _is_ loyalty and not just a temporary alignment of their goals and her own.

“So,” Vette says lightheartedly, and of course it’s Vette who breaks the silence, “Scar-face wants us for some super duper secret mission? Sounds fun.”

Quinn looks two second away from either fainting or committing murder, “You can’t- you can’t call Grand Moff Kilran such a rude and insulting name! Do you have any idea what he has personally done for the Empire?”

“What I would give to have been in his battalion during the Sacking of Coruscant,” Pierce remarks, his voice tinged with regret at missing that historic attack.

“He helped design this ship,” Gimrizh comments, running a hand over the smooth metal of the holo.

That seems to suitably impress Vette, “Well. That’s alright then.”

“Glad you agree,” she says, “Vette, Quinn, get us out of hyperspace wherever we are and head to those coordinates as soon as possible. Pierce, make sure our guns are working perfectly, if the fleet is gathering, we’re going to need them. Oh, and make sure Toovee is powered down. His circuits can’t handle stress. Jaesa-” she pauses and looks over at her apprentice who is probably not completely ready to work closely with another Sith, “with me.”

The other three leave for either the bridge or the engine room and Jaesa moves to stand at her side, “Yes master?”

“Will you be alright?” Gimrizh asks quietly, “fighting alongside a Sith?”

Jaesa seems to shrink in on herself, “No, master. I will do it, I know that there isn’t another way, and I will not slow you down. I can keep myself hidden well enough to avoid detection, I promise. Even so, I am… worried. Afraid.”

Her hands tighten on the holo terminal, “I will not let any Sith hurt you, I swear it. If they- if they discover what you’re hiding, I will not allow them to do anything with that information. Jaesa -”

She doesn’t want to say it. Not because it’s false, but because it’s a weakness. Despite knowing that a failure of the Jedi is their refusal to acknowledge emotion in themselves, she can’t help but fall into a similar trap herself. Some emotions, anger and aggression, are easy, they strengthen her. Some don’t. Some just peel away at her defenses, threatening to remove every shield she has until she is raw and exposed.

“I know, master,” Jaesa softly places one of her hands over Gimrizh’s, “It’s not that - well, it isn’t _only_ that…”

“The Jedi,” she finishes.

“Master, I… I don’t think you can defeat her,” Jaesa whispers, her pretty brown eyes just a bit too wide, “I _know_ I cannot defeat her. On Hoth, she cut through our forces easily, and only part of that was due to having the Rift Alliance Coalition Forces behind her. If Grand Moff Kilran has some sort of plan I shall support you as always, I am merely…”

Gimrizh sighs. Part of her agrees with her apprentice, even as she desires victory over the  Barsen’thor, “I understand. We have never gone into a mission so blind.”

“You all speak of Kilran with such respect, and I accept that,” Jaesa continues, “What he’s done for the Empire is admirable. It’s only that from my perspective, I am not going to serve under a hero that has made great strides for the Empire, I’m going to serve under a man who burnt parts of Coruscant to the ground. That’s how I know him - as the man who helped turn the Jedi Temple to ruin.”

“True,” Gimrizh admits. There’s no easy way to say this. She doesn’t want to ever be the one who has to hurt Jaesa, but sometimes she feels as though her apprentice holds on to threads of idealism that no longer exist, “Kilran spearheaded the Sacking of Coruscant. Darth Baras served as the Empire’s foothold on Alderaan - your home planet. I hunted down Nomen Karr with the intention of killing you, and together, me and my master restarted the war.”

Jaesa flinches, “I _know_ , master. I know what I’ve done. I know what _you’ve_ done and I also know _who_ you are. That’s why I’m here. Because I believe that within the Empire are good people - like yourself - and that we can change things for the better _from_ within. People like Kilran can’t stay at the top forever.”

“You are a more pure-hearted and ambitious person than I am,” she replies, staring absently at the pulsing terminal lights, “Sometimes I feel as though you are the master, and I, the ignorant apprentice.”

“Don’t worry, master,” Jaesa says with a thin laugh, “I still look up to you more than you know.”

Whatever did she do to deserve such a bright and wonderful apprentice? She can see why Vette cares for her. Jaesa is possessed of not only great insight and cleverness, but an open heart and a strong sense of what is right and wrong. There’s an aspect of her that is intriguing, drawing people in. Nomen Karr claimed that she would revolutionize the Jedi Order and she can see why he lauded her like that.

She’s not even sure he was wrong.

~*~

From his earliest days in the military, Malavai has always looked up Grand Moff Kilran as both a brilliant tactician and an example of what the Empire can _really_ do when freed of the corruption and incompetence that’s wormed it’s way into the hierarchy. The Sacking of Coruscant had been a decisive blow against the Republic. It had been a warning of the ruthlessness that makes the Empire so much more effective than the Republic could ever be.

To be part of a task force headed by the man is an honor that Malavai never thought he’d get after what Moff Broysc did to him.

The _Emperor’s Glory_ is aptly named, one of the fastest star destroyers in the fleet and certainly the one with the most firepower. One of Malavai’s greatest ambitions has always been to command one of these. Perhaps one day he might still get the chance.

“Lord Gimrizh, Captain Quinn,” an ensign bows her head as they pass, “Straight ahead to the communications room, if you please. The Grand Moff will brief you there.”

A number of officers move around the room as they enter, most working at wall mounted terminals. In the center is a massive holo projector and standing in front of it is the Grand Moff himself. There’s a second group as well. A dark skinned and heavily tattooed human twirling a blaster in his hands and a scrawny pale blue Twi’lek with a vicious looking lightsaber clipped to his belt. That must be the other Sith that Lord Gimrizh is to work with.

Kilran waves them over, “Good, you’ve arrived.”

“I apologize for the delay,” Gimrizh says, bowing her head slightly, “I came as quickly as possible.”

“No matter.” he says dismissively, “Let’s begin, shall we? In case you two haven't been introduced, this is Vardri, known as Lord Kallig. The two of you will be working together on this mission.”

Gimrizh nods at the fellow Sith, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“... Likewise,” The Twi’lek sneers, staring at her disdainfully. Malavai immediately decides he dislikes that Sith, regardless of how powerful he must be to have earned the title of ‘Lord Kallig’. That sort of condescension against Gimrizh is intolerable. Even though she only looks flustered for a second before shaking it off, he’s not going to forget such rudeness.

A map appears on the holo, focusing until Malavai recognizes the planet of Taral V. It’s got a similar environment to Dromund Kaas and is used by the Empire as a both a minor colonized planet and houses numerous research facilities. “Last week,” Kilran begins, “a team consisting of four Jedi broke into the Taral V Gree research fortress. They were there to recover a Gree computer and regrettably, despite bombing the place to the ground, they survived to retrieve the computer. Now, the computer is able to navigate the Maelstrom nebula.”

The map changes, showing the nebula in question and three nearby markers, one is the Imperial fleet, one is marked as Republic, and the other is a symbol Malavai’s never seen before.

“Inside the Maelstrom nebula is a prison that the Empire has been using to house one of our more, shall we say, _unique_ prisoners,” Kilran explains, “Darth Malgus has given the order to ensure that the prisoner does not escape under any circumstance. As I said, if we fail, the Republic would gain an unacceptable advantage in this war.”

The Twi’lek Sith, Vardri, frowns at the map, “Can’t we just kill this prisoner and have done with it? Seems like a stupid waste of time if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you,” Kilran replies sharply, “If you think that you know more about this subject than Darth Malgus, then please, by all means.” When the Sith says nothing further, Kilran continues, “That’s what I thought. Killing the prisoner is a _last_ resort. The Emperor himself wants this man kept alive so that’s how this will be done. If you have any more complaints, Lord Kallig, I’d _love_ to hear them.”

Vardri levels a heavy glare at the Grand Moff but the man behind him places a hand on his shoulder and Vardri reluctantly huffs, “Fine. _Waste_ time keeping him alive. Doesn’t matter to me.”

“You weren’t invited here for your personality, were you?” Gimrizh scathingly comments.

“And what were you invited for?” Vardi snaps back, “Your pretty face?”

Gimrizh flinches as though she’s been slapped and Malavai takes a step forward before he’s even thought about it.

“ _Please,_ ” Kilran drawls, “I think we have enough to be getting on with, yes? I’m certain that the two of you can save such _clever_ insults for the Republic. Back to the matter at hand - I believe that the same Republic task force will attacking the Maelstrom with the intent of securing the prisoner there for themselves. Obviously, our goal will be to stop them.”

The holo map disappears and a loop of security footage plays, two figures with lightsabers destroying an oppressor droid. The footage plays once before freezing and Kilran focuses the image onto the first Jedi. It’s unmistakably the woman from Hoth, this Barsen’thor. Her saberstaff is plunged into the droid’s control center and a shower of sparks illuminates her face.

Kilran points to her, “This is our main target. Her name is Master Celebris and she is not only powerful enough to sit on the Jedi Council, but she’s also been named the Barsen’thor of their little Order. The second Jedi, known as the ‘Hero of Tython’, is our secondary target, but still needs to be dealt with.”

The image turns around to focus on someone Malavai has actually rather been hoping to meet again. If only to kill him.

“ _Thutrel_ ,” Gimrizh snarls, spitting out the word like it’s poison.

Kilran glances at her with only mild surprise and amusement, “You know him? Good. As I said, he is the lesser of the two. A number of accomplishments for the Jedi that have made him a particularly dangerous enemy, but nothing on the scale that Celebris has caused. She’s been a source of personal aggravation to me.” he comments, so matter of factly that it seems almost out of place, no anger in his voice at all.

“You said that you had a plan to deal with her,” Gimrizh reminds him, “She’s very dangerous in combat, you’re right. Without a plan, I don’t think we could just defeat her in a fair fight.”

“Oh, I’m getting to that part,” Kilran promises, “Shortly before I had you take control of the Black Talon Operation, I engaged the ship _Esseles_ in combat. It was part of a plan to capture Ambassador Asara that should have worked - _Esseles_ did not have the firepower to repel my attack. Celebris was unfortunately aboard the ship repelled my attack. To my _annoyance_ , she then boarded my own ship with a strike team to disable the tractor beams and escape.”

Vardri rolls his eyes, “And what? You actually let her beat you?”

Kilran doesn’t rise to the taunt, there’s just a clever smirk on his face as though he’s certain he always knows more than everyone else in the room. It’s a bit disconcerting, really. “No. I sent a Sith to deal with her, the rest of the strike team was killed before she in turn killed the Sith. And then she abandoned the ambassador on my ship before fleeing to _Esseles_.”

“So she’s not the cleverest Jedi,” Vardri says smugly.

No, that’s not it. The woman from Hoth was both clever and also calculated. Not someone prone to absently making such a decision. Why would she have left behind the very person that her mission was designed to protect?

Malavai clears his throat, “Permission to speak, sir?”

“Go ahead,” Kilran grants.

“Do you know why she decided to leave the ambassador?” Malavai asks, “Wouldn’t the Republic have condemned her for that?”

“You’re asking the _right_ questions,” Kilran replies, folding his arms behind his back and surveying the assembled group, “I think she did it because she thought, quite correctly, that once I had Asara, I would leave behind the ship full of civilians. She thought it was the right thing. I believe that given the chance, I can convince her to aid the Empire.”

“You want to manipulate her into thinking that turning against the Republic would be the better choice for all involved,” Malavai realizes, “If she’s predisposed towards her own personal morality instead of partisanship, it might work.”

Kilran looks smug, “Not just for all involved, but particularly for innocent people. If she sacrificed Asara for a ship full of civilians then she values life in a numerical sense. Obviously, if it doesn’t work, I do have a backup plan, but I’m confident that one way or another I can end her era of working for the Republic.”

It might actually work. If Kilran has encountered her before, then he’s likely to already know a bit more than Malavai himself does in regards to how she works and who she is. Malavai would bet on the Grand Moff’s success. “I assume part of this plan involves cutting the Barsen’thor off from her fellow Jedi, then?”

“Correct,” Kilran changes the holo to display a map of the Maelstrom prison, “We will arrive before the Republic and hide the fleet in the nebula. Once the Republic arrives, the _Emperor’s Glory_ and the other ships gathered here will engage the Republic fleet while I, along with Lord Gimrizh and Lord Kallig, take a shuttle to the prison. The Republic will be pinned between the prison’s defences and our ships. Here,” he points to a massive chamber in the prison, “Is where the prisoner is kept. We can cut them off before then. I’m certain Celebris will break through - let her. I’ll be waiting for her inside.”

“You’ll use the prisoner as bait to draw her to you,” Malavai says thoughtfully, “Leaving both Lord Gimrizh and Lord Kallig to kill Thutrel and then presumably be free to come to your aid if necessary.”

Kilran glances over and gives him an unnerving evaluating look, “You’re not half bad, are you?” And then of course he keeps talking before Malavai can come up with a sensible response to that besides ‘what?’, “Yes, my plan is to pit both Sith against Thutrel first, before seeing if Celebris can be swayed or if she needs to be killed. It’d be regrettable if we have to dispose of her, but I will do whatever it takes to neutralize her as a threat.”

“How will _we_ navigate the Maelstrom?” Gimrizh asks, “If the Republic needed to steal a Gree computer to do it, how can we do the same without that technology?”

“The Gree computer is necessary to predict the patterns that the nebula’s winds take,” Kilran explains, “I’ve spent a good deal of time navigating the nebula already - once the fleet gets close enough, we’ll drop out of hyperspace and I can guide us towards the prison. It should be easy, especially given that we’ll be following in the Republic’s wake.”

Vardri grins, “So. We’re going to make her fall. That’ll be fun.”

“Not necessarily,” Gimrizh points out, crossing her arms sternly, “Forcing her to fall would be obvious - making her change sides without falling would be a better approach.”

Even though he’s loathe to criticize her, particularly when he’s uncertain if the decision she’s made is the right one or not, he has to wonder if she’s speaking from experience on that. It’s not his place to comment on Jaesa Willsaam anyway, given how little he knows about Sith. It’s just a thought.

Jaesa serves the Empire remarkably well, that, Malavai tells himself, is all that matters. What does he know about the force, really? In the end, all he’s seen points towards the truth that Jaesa fell to the dark side on Hutta and has served the Empire and Lord Gimrizh with unwavering loyalty since. Whatever he thinks beyond that is purely speculative, based on stereotypes that both Jaesa and Gimrizh don’t fall into. He just - it sounded like Gimrizh wasn’t just making an idle comment. That is all.

“It doesn’t matter what you want to _call_ it,” Vardri says snidely, “At the end of the battle, she’ll know the power of the dark side.”

The man behind Vardri coughs, “Bit ominous, don’t you think?”

Vardri turns around and grins at him, “I thought so too. Good, isn’t it?”

“Well I’m so glad you all approve,” Kilran remarks, breaking off the two’s banter, “We should be entering the Maelstrom shortly - meet me at hangar bay A-3 within the hour to board the shuttle. Dismissed.”

With a childish sort of wave, Vardri strides out of the room, his companion following a second behind.

Gimrizh jerks her thumb at the door as soon as Vardri is past it, “May I ask exactly why that one was invited? Besides as blaster fodder, that is.”

“Whatever you might think of his personality, Lord Kallig is a remarkably powerful Sith, even if you might not be as aware of his record as I am,” Kilran says sternly, “Do try and get along with him. If you compromise this mission due to a petty grudge, I shall be most displeased.”

“I would never,” she bows sharply, “Thank you for the opportunity.”

She turns to head out and Malavai salutes the Grand Moff before he leaves. He follows Lord Gimrizh as she heads back the same way they came.

“My lord,” Malavai asks once they’re in the relative privacy of an empty hallway, “about Jaesa…” he can’t find the words and changes his mind, “it might be a good idea to inquire about her opinion regarding this plan to defeat the Barsen’thor. She might have more insight as a result of her experience with the Jedi.”

She considers this for a moment, “I suppose. I admit, I’m glad that the strike team will be limited to just the three of us - I fear that if Kilran had suggested we bring backup, Jaesa would have been forced to tag along. She’s been through enough at the hands of that woman.”

Everyday he feels like he understand the force less and less, “Forgive me for sounding insensitive, but did her encounter with the Barsen’thor damage her somehow?”

“Yes,” she says resolutely, “I suppose you’ve only worked with Jaesa’s ability and _I_ don’t really have the skill for it. Jaesa is unique in both the scope of her talent as well as the fact that it can go undetected - if she reads you, you can’t feel it. Some Sith and Jedi - powerful ones - can also be more subtle about it. But usually, when used against another force user, it…” she hesitates, “it can hurt. Celebris _grabbed Jaesa’s mind_ and whatever her skill with the technique, there is no way it didn’t feel like being crushed beneath a speeder. It’s not _physical_ pain - but the mind is fragile. Too much and it can break.”

He honestly can’t imagine what that must feel like. It sounds painful to the extreme, and highly dangerous. Techniques like that _must_ run at least some risk of leaving the subject insane. And he has to wonder, how skilled is Darth Baras in the art of reading minds?

Has Jaesa ever - no, surely not. He would know if she did.

Not because he has an inflated view of his own abilities - if she tried to use her power on him he likely would be unaware during the actual event itself. But if Jaesa _knew_ \- she wouldn’t stay silent. It troubles him, because acknowledging the fact that Jaesa would condemn him for his behavior makes him feel as though he is in the wrong with what he’s done for Darth Baras. Sometimes he feels the same but he _has_ to keep reporting back to Baras. What Baras orders has to be for the good of the Empire. Jaesa would - she would not understand. She’d fall back on loyalty to her master, that’s the only reason. His loyalty has to be first and foremost to Baras. He can be loyal to Gimrizh as well - and oh he _is_ \- but logically, he knows that he has to keep the ultimate good of the Empire in mind.

“Thank you for explaining the matter to me,” he says at last, “There are many aspects of the force that I fear I can never fully understand.”

Gimrizh gives him a wry smile, “I often feel the same.”

“My lord-” he starts and then realizes he doesn’t know how to finish that sentence.

She comes to a stop and looks up at him, the light hitting the gold in her eyes and making them shine, “Yes, Quinn?”

He’s not going to see her again till they’re out of the Maelstrom and the mission is completed. What does he want to say to her? “I wish you the best of luck.”

“You as well,” she replies, “You’re in command of _Horizon_ till I get back - keep the rest from getting blown up and give the Republic hell for me.”

“I’ll say the same to you then,” he decides, “Stay safe, my lord. I have the utmost faith in your success.”

~*~

Celebris stares out the briefing room viewport on board the _Telos_. They are so close to the Imperial prison and so close to freeing this prisoner and yet she feels the dark side looming ahead like a storm. Like the clouds of gas and dust that make up the Maelstrom Nebula, so too does the dark side swirl around her and darken her vision.

“You’re deep in thought,” Felix comments, slowly moving to stand at her side, “Does the force say anything good?”

She reaches out for his hand and when she finds it holds fast, “No. I can see nothing.”

He pauses. “That’s… not usual?”

“I don’t know...” she shakes her head and tries to clear her thoughts. Once more, she closes her eyes and reaches out into the living force. She can sense the people on the ship, Felix next to her, and then she steps a level deeper. There are flashes of the same future that she’s been seeing for months now - the prison floating in space, the red lightsaber of a Sith, an unfamiliar man imprisoned in a containment field, Thutrel reaching out a hand  - nothing. Everything goes dark and she can no longer see.

Exactly the same thing she’s seen the past hundred times she’s tried to glimpse the future. Everything up till that point has so far been accurate - she avoids egotism as a rule, but she appears to have a talent for foresight.

“After we free this prisoner, what shall we do?” she asks him, trying to think of what the future _might_ hold since she cannot say for sure.

Felix thinks it over, “I found a holovid I want to show you. It’s... uh... “Squad 223: Mission Zero” and it’s probably the cheesiest vid ever made. Took me a bit to track down a copy though - it’s pretty old.”

“Oh?” she has to say, the idea of a cheesy vid actually sounds rather appealing after so long at war, “What’s it about?”

“Standard stuff,” he says with a shrug that fails to cover how he looks a bit embarrassed about liking it, “Rough and tumble heroic soldiers kicking the teeth out of bad guys. Lots of explosions and slow-mo. It was one of the few vids that they had when my family was sent to a refugee camp. Kinda left an impression on me.”

She smiles, “I’d love to see it.”

He wraps his other arm around her waist and rests his chin on top of her head - she’s never seriously complained about their height difference, not really. She loves that he can make her feel small and safe when the galaxy and the Jedi insist that she constantly be unstoppable. “Then that’s our plan, no force vision necessary. You finish this up, we watch a holovid back on _Sky Hunter_ , maybe take a vacation somewhere. I’ve heard Tython’s gorgeous.”

“It is,” she tells him, thinking back to the idyllic green forests and towering mountains of her peaceful days as a padawan, “The river water runs cool from the mountains on hot days and the light shines through the trees to pattern the forest floor. It really is a nexus of force -” she trails off as she remembers the one obstacle. “My order will not approve.”

“I know. We’ve got a plan for that, right?” he asks.

She considers the fact that Jedi aren’t supposed to marry, aren’t supposed to form attachments at all and she also wonders what they would do if their own Barsen’thor wanted a husband. “I’ve got a plan.”

He laughs, “Knew you would.”

“I’m going to kill Kilran,” she declares suddenly, “He’s going to attempt to trick me somehow - I know he will, he always has a plan, and I’m going to have to kill him.”

Felix takes this in stride as she knew he would - another Jedi might hesitate at her easy acceptance of fatalities. He is not so judgmental. He too understands the necessities of war. “You beat him on Taral V. You’ll do it again.” He leans down to press a kiss to her cheek, “I know you will.”

~*~

Jaesa watches as a squad of Imperial soldiers run around the hangar bay prepping the shuttle for takeoff. Her master is next to her, perched on the edge of a supply crate. “You really think that this is the right thing to do, master?” Jaesa says nervously, “She’s the _Barsen’thor_. We both know how powerful she is.”

“Kilran has a plan,” Gimrizh says with a sigh, staring at the shuttle, “I’ve decided to throw in with him and honestly, I think his plan could work.”

She’s still hesitant. When she encountered Celebris on Hoth, there had been a level of power that she’d had that Jaesa has never seen before. Her master had defeated Nomen Karr because she’d been stronger, more sure of herself. But her master isn’t more powerful than Celebris, she just _isn’t_. Jaesa doesn’t want to automatically assume that her master will fail, but she’s not sure if this confrontation will go their way. What plan can make up for the staggering discrepancy in sheer power?

“What plan could _possibly_ work against her?” she quietly asks.

Gimrizh explains, “Kilran is going to convince her that joining the Empire is for the best. He says he can get her to turn to our side - or at least surrender. We could neutralize her as a threat without having to fight her.”

Like Gimrizh did to her.

No, of course not, it isn’t the same. Jaesa wasn’t coerced into joining Gimrizh’s crew or the Sith Order - she’d practically insisted because she knew it was the only path available to her. Celebris isn’t going to be given much of a choice. “Do you think it will work?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, “I wanted to ask you. You know more about her than I do.”

Jaesa tries to think back to her first encounter with Celebris. It had been both terrifying and awe inspiring to stand on the edge of her mind. “When I was caught in her mind, in my fear I thought her to be a volcano. She’s hard, master, but not all the way through. Inside is fire. I think one of the reasons why she is so strong is that, like mountain rock, everything that tries to attack her breaks upon her defences. She’s a fist of brute force, slamming power against power.”

“That’s reassuring,” Gimrizh comments sarcastically.

Actually, it _is_ , “Master, I’m not saying she’s unstoppable. She’s not. If she’s a volcano, then I would compare your power to a storm. You can be strong and vicious, but you can bend. You know how to flow. She doesn’t. She just slams against her enemies, again and again, knowing that she’s stronger and harder than they are.”

“You know,” her master says with a roll of her eyes, “your metaphors are becoming more and more convoluted.”

Jaesa smiles weakly, “I do try, master.”

“So,” Gimrizh continues, “If you think she’s like rock, then Kilran’s trick might work. We don’t have the power to break her, but we could manipulate her.”

“I don’t know,” Jaesa says reluctantly, “She struck me as cleverer than that. She might be hard, but she isn’t stupid. I suppose the trick to beating her then is to be stronger and harder than she is. Breaking her might be the _only_ way to defeat her. To take her down, you have to beat her at her own game.”

“And _if_ we break her?” Gimrizh asks.

Jaesa shrugs, “I don’t know, master. I don’t know if we _can_. You aren’t stronger than her.”

“You think I don’t know that?” her master snaps, a thin waver of real fear in her voice, “I _know_ she’s stronger than me. She’s terrifying, and the mere knowledge that I am going to get on that shuttle and fly down to that prison and face her makes me want to get back in _Horizon_ and run but I _can’t_ and I _hate_ it. So if that’s your answer - “ she lets her sentence die.

“The Jedi would say that fear and hate cloud your mind. That someone who falls to their fear loses a battle before it even begins,” Jaesa remembers, thinking back to a time when she was younger, newly brought into the Jedi Order and taking her first steps on Tython, “They would tell you to release the emotion into the force. I’ve never thought that could be true. In my experience, fear is just part of being alive. You can’t pretend it’s not there. All you can do is face it.”

Gimrizh doesn’t say anything for a while and then finally answers, “Well. I can’t prove the Jedi right, now can I? Wouldn’t be very Sith of me.”

She smiles down at her, “I thought you might say that, master.”

“See you on the other side then,” her master says as she stands up and makes her way to the shuttle that a second, unfamiliar Sith is boarding, “I’ll bring back Celebris’s head for you.”

“Good luck,” Jaesa says in parting.

~*~

“We’re approaching the prison, master!” Kira yells over the railing before ducking back inside _Penumbra_ ’s bridge, “It’s gonna be a rough landing!”

Thutrel finishes securing Tee-seven so that the droid won’t fly around the ship during the upcoming fight. The droid whirrs contentedly and plugs itself into the ship’s cannons. Thutrel always feels bad that his friend can’t hold on to anything and just gets thrown around every time they’re in a battle. “Alright,” he says, turning to his friend - his fellow Jedi - his companion in this mission, “Hold onto something.”

She leans backwards and grabs a handle on the underside of the overhang, “My ship, _Sky Hunter_ , is the same design. I’ve crash landed in her a thousand times.”

The two associates of hers who will be joining them, the Trandoshan Qyzen-Fess, and the slicer Tharan Cedrax, follow suit and find something to grab onto. They’re approaching the prison more rapidly than is recommended, but Thutrel can hear and sense the prison’s defenses firing at the Republic fleet. A cannon bolt explodes an inch away from the ship and they quickly swerve to avoid.

“Doing something a thousand times doesn’t make it a pleasant experience,” Tharan comments, pulling himself up by the stair railing.

Thutrel finds it rather exhilarating, but he understands that he has more faith in his crew than Tharan does, this being his first time aboard _Penumbra_ after all, “My apologies,” he says, “We should be on more steady ground shortly.”

“That-” Tharan pauses to brace himself as the ship hurtles to the left, “that would be most appreciated, Master Jedi.”

Thutrel feels his cheeks flushing, “Er- thank you, but I’m not a master.”

“I expect that the council will approve your advancement shortly,” Celebris says, “You’ve achieved much, my friend. And we’re about to achieve even more.”

A shudder runs through the ship and then there’s the telltale shake as they touch down. Thutrel places a hand on his lightsaber to reassure himself. They’ve hit the prison. Now all they need to do is get through it’s defenses and free the poor soul that’s been locked up by the Empire. No more living in captivity. They’re going to save someone - that’s always the sort of work for the Republic that Thutrel likes best.

“We’re docked at the prison!” Kira calls out, “Rusk says we’ve got maybe two minutes to drop you before we’ve got to run!”

Thutrel leans over the railing to look into the bridge where Doc and Rusk are piloting, “Get back to the fight and do what you can to aid the fleet. I’ll comm you when we need to be extracted. Good luck!”

“Same to you, master!” she replies before opening the main doors.

Celebris is the first one out, her lightsaber blazing to life and deflecting the first few shots that the hangar bay security guards throw at them. At her shoulder is Qyzen’s heavy blaster that takes the guards out.

Once it’s done, she lowers her saberstaff and disembarks from _Penumbra_. Thutrel and Tharan follow her out and then the plank folds back up into the ship’s belly. There’s a roar from her engines and she lifts off a few feet - hovering in front of them - slowly turning - there’s a burst of engine fire - and his ship soars back out into the firestorm that is the Republic’s bombardment of the prison’s defences.

“Tharan,” Celebris orders, pointing to a control panel at one of the hangar bay doors, “I need you to stay here. Get Holiday inside the prison system and see what you can do to hurt the Empire. Me and Thutrel will continue through till we find the prisoner. Qyzen, keep Tharan safe while he works and make sure that we have an escape route here.”

Qyzen presses his fist to his chest, “ _Send many enemies my way, Herald_.”

Tharan delicately pries open the panel and plugs a datastick into the works. A moment later and a bright pink and purple holo of a woman appears at his side. That must be this Holiday that Thutrel’s heard so much about. Well - he isn’t one to judge.

“Ugh,” she says distastefully, in a voice that echoes ever so slightly with static, “This place is so old and dusty! Just look at this circuitry - it’s hundreds of years old. It’s positively _ancient_! Tharan, why can’t we ever go anywhere with shiny new things?”

“Sorry, Holiday dear,” Tharan offhandedly apologizes, connecting two wires, “I didn’t pick the locale. Can you work with it?”

She frowns, “It’s so old that it might take me a bit but I’ll get it. No one’s smarter than us!”

The two techs quickly get to work figuring out the prison’s antiquated systems. A few feet behind them lingers the Trandoshan, who doesn’t seem very pleased at being assigned guard duty, but resigned to his posting. Qyzen must have a lot of loyalty for Celebris. From what Thutrel hears, the Trandoshan has been with her since Tython.

“Thutrel,” Celebris says sharply. She’s staring out of the hangar bay into the whirling nebula and the ships inside it that are firing away at the prison.

He looks out as well, “What is it?”

She doesn’t move, only her fingers tighten around the hilt of her saber, “This is a trap.”

“How?” he asks, not wanting to doubt her, “We took the Gree computer from them, how would they navigate through the Maelstrom?”

“I don’t know,” she admits, “but I can sense Kilran. He’s here.”

A massive explosion rockets through the space before them - a bolt that rips a Republic Liberator-class ship to shreds. He reels as the pain and death of the crew tears through the force and through him. Only - the blast didn’t come from the prison. It came from behind.

An Imperial star destroyer emerges from the nebula.

And then behind it, dozens more ships pour forth from the cloud - more than he can count off hand.

“That’s the _Emperor’s Glory_ ,” Celebris whispers, “It’s Kilran.”

Thutrel sees the Republic’s fleet - Master Oteg aboard the _Telos_ \- sees it stuck between the prison’s guns and the Empire. “They’re going to try and pin us,” he realizes, “Force us to fight on both sides. We’re neck and neck with that Imperial fleet when it comes to numbers. We should - we might have to retreat.”

“We’re not running,” she orders, “Comm Master Oteg. Tell him we’re going to stay. We’re going to fight. We’re going to save that prisoner and then we’re going to execute Grand Moff Kilran.”

He has to trust in the fact that she’s been leading forces on the battlefield for longer than he has. While he ran recovery missions for superweapons and has been bailing out Republic garrisons across the galaxy during the war, she’s never left the front lines. She’s been commanding the Rift Alliance Coalition Forces for a long while now. Even though he isn’t certain about her decision, he’ll defer to her experience.

“Alright,” he agrees after a moment, “I have faith in you. I’ll send the message to Master Oteg right away.”

She glances over at him and he thinks he can see a bit of softness in her eyes, “Thank you, my friend.”

“Oh!” Holiday calls out, “I’ve got the door open!”

“Then let’s move out,” Celebris says, and he exchanges one last look with his long time friend before they enter the prison.

~*~

“The Republic strike team is already on their way through the prison,” Kilran comments lightly as they disembark the shuttle.

Overhead, the space around them bursts into plumes of fire and debris as the two fleets of ships battle each other. Gimrizh stops in her tracks as the squad of troopers moves to flank them. She can see the familiar shape of _Horizon_ for just a moment, streaking through space before vanishing behind a larger destroyer. Her crew is up there.

The bright glare of another explosion causes her to wince. It wasn’t her ship - she would have felt it. She has to trust that they will make it out. Quinn is a brilliant pilot and so is Vette. She couldn’t have left her ship in better hands. And she can’t let the fight above distract her, even though she wishes there was something more she could do to keep them safe. All she can do right now is win the battle on the ground as fast as she can.

Vardri tuts at her as he struts past, “Come along, little girl. The battle will be over and won before you get your head out of the hyperlanes.”

If that one gets killed off she will be so damn grateful.

“Remain behind,” Kilran orders, and the group of Imperial soldiers salutes him and moves to secure the entrance.

The secondary airlock doors slide open and then quickly shut behind the three of them. They landed right next to the main containment room, where the prisoner is being kept. It’s a huge, towering room with harsh white light fixtures. The whole place feels oddly clean and sterile. The walls are really just massive floor to ceiling viewports through which she can see the clash between ships that’s just behind them.

Vardri takes a step forward, “Is that…?”

She turns to see what he’s pointing at and her breath catches in her throat. It’s a man, the prisoner, held in a grossly overpowered containment field. He’s a human, brown hair and tattered clothes, with a strange series of scars on his face. Thick, force restraint cuffs are clasped around his wrists and ankles, humming with so much energy she can actually see the waver in the air it causes.

There must be a dozen extra restraints on that mechanism, layers and layers of energy barriers so thick that they look tangible. Who the hell needs that level of security?

“That _is_ the prisoner, yes,” Kilran confirms, “That’s all you need to know.”

But Vardri is just standing still in front of the cell, staring, “I’ve seen this man before - where do I know him from?”

The words ‘get your head out of the hyperlanes’ are seconds away from marching across her lips when she stops and stares and really looks at the prisoner. He’s right - she’s seen him before. Somewhere, somehow, she’s seen his face. Where does she know him from? “Who is he?” she asks.

“As I said,” Kilran repeats, unwavering in his refusal, “that’s all you need to know.”

She can see Vardri open his mouth, about to protest when there’s a deafening crash.

It comes from further into the prison and she can feel the ripple in the force, like a backlash from the original source. The excess energy lights up her senses and she feels two Jedi - the steady flickering star of Thutrel and the unyielding vast well of power that is Celebris. The fight came to them.

“They’ve broken into the containment room’s antechamber,” Kilran informs them, “Time to begin the plan.”

Kilran slides his massive sniper rifle onto his back and gestures to the door. With one last look at the prisoner, Vardri places his hand on the door panel.

The door opens and the two of them step through.

The antechamber is a huge space maybe two hundred yards across. There’s a main command center in front of a towering viewport, a series of control panels blinking up at them. Huge durasteel pillars cut through the room, guarding a set of long bridges that cut out over a gaping chasm that falls to the bottom of the prison, so deep that when Gimrizh looks down over the edge she can’t see the bottom. A giant banner emblazoned with the Imperial logo hangs on the farthest wall.

On the opposite side from them is a pair of double doors that have been crushed into two chunks of durasteel rubble.

And there’s the two Jedi.

It’s been awhile since she’s seen Thutrel but he looks just as infuriating as ever. A few pieces of armour have been fixed to his shoulders and he’s wearing a metal chestplate under his robes. There’s the same stupid ponytail and those damn tattoos - the same fucking tattoos - almost _her_ tattoos.

And Celebris steps through the hole that she’s created, and she can only think that Jaesa was right. That stupid volcano metaphor was right.

“Wait!” Thutrel cries out, his voice echoing through the room, “Gimrizh? What are you doing here?”

Gimrizh gestures to the Imperial banner behind the Jedi, “Guess.”

The message does not get through his head, “Listen, if you put down your lightsaber, if you go quietly, the Republic won’t hurt you. I know you, you are stronger than the dark side. I need to talk to you about my cousin. You’re the only person who’s so much as recognized her name in years, I’ve been searching for her over a decade. Does she go by a Sith title now, instead?”

“Krething hells,” Vardri whines, “Does this guy ever shut the fuck up?”

Celebris strides forward, uncaring for the conversation, “This is pointless. We have come for your prisoner, you will not surrender him. Thutrel - I am sorry, but you must put aside your desire to see your cousin for the moment.”

“Oh,” Vardri comments, grinning at her, “I like you. No talk, straight to the chase.”

“Talk, as you put it, is irrelevant,” she replies. Her face is like a block of stone, hard and emotionless. Unmistakably a Jedi, Gimrizh thinks bitterly, “The two of you have put your faith in the dark side, and it is an unstable and untrustworthy ally. You shall both fall.”

He flaps his hand around, “Blah blah. Jedi bullshit. Will you still be able to spout that garbage after I’ve gutted you?”

“You’ve deluded yourself,” she says coldly, “Thutrel, we have a mission to complete.”

The Mirialan is both saddened and resigned when he looks up. He removes the hilt of his lightsaber from his belt and says regretfully, “I am truly sorry. But I have a duty to the Republic and to the freedom of the galaxy.”

“Wonderful,” Vardri bites out, full of bloodlust.

There’s a hiss of energy.

A brilliant blue bladed saberstaff burns to life in Celebris’s hands.

Thutrel flips his hilt into a reverse grip before his green blade lights up.

Vardri draws his blood red lightsaber and settles into a poised stance.

And Gimrizh ignites her two swords, the red lightsaber from the tombs of Korriban in her right hand and the bright blue of Quorian Dorjis in her left.

They collide.

The first to move is Vardri, sending a huge burst of lighting at both Jedi. They scatter and the lightning bursts when it hits the ground. Gimrizh flips one of her sabers over in her hand, buries her fear under her hate, lets herself fall into the drumbeat of the dark side, and rushes towards the enemy.

Celebris breaks her charge, planting her staff between both of Gimrizh’s blades. There’s no way she can push her back with brute strength. Gimrizh disengages and jumps backwards, letting Vardri try and bring his lightsaber down on her unprotected back. It doesn’t work, Celebris blocks instantly and pivots to slash her staff out at him. Vardri dodges before adopting a Juyo stance and hacking at her again and again, a bright flash of blue on red as their weapons clash.

There’s a warning in the force and Gimrizh spins to the side as Thutrel’s green saber stabs at where she was a second ago. She brings both her blades down to bare on him and he neatly blocks her every strike, his hilt whirling in his hands as he keeps his guard up and her retaliating twice as hard to try and break through.

He’s aiming for non lethal points only, she notices. When he attacks at all, for his style is mostly defensive, he strikes at shoulders, knees, wrists, anywhere that a person can walk away from. It’s infuriating.

“Fight _back_!” she snarls at him.

Thutrel weaves around her blades and lets her lunge forward while he moves to her side. “I don’t want to fight you -” he ducks her red saber,  “there’s still hope for you -” she brings both her blades across his torso and he hastily blocks, “I know there’s good in you -” their sabers lock as she tries to push him off balance, “please, I know you do the right thing!”

She screams and kicks him in the chest, sending him skidding backwards, “Shut _up_!”

Thutrel is _fast_ , rushing up to her and trying to make a grab for her wrist to pry her saber from her hands. _Not_ going to happen. She whirls out of the way, putting a bit of distance between them and lowers her stance, both blades outstretched.

She turns on her heels and spins both blades to throw off Celebris’s saber as the woman suddenly attacks her.

Vardri throws an arc of lightning at Thutrel and she finds herself flipping backwards to avoid the blue saberstaff that sears a long burn into the durasteel ground.

The bright purple lightning is almost blinding now. Vardri is laughing wildly as Celebris lowers her staff to catch the energy in the palm of her hand and Thutrel is hard-pressed to keep himself safe by putting his lightsaber between him and the electricity. Vardri just keeps laughing and keeps powering through the two Jedi.

There’s a pillar behind her and Gimrizh runs for it, bolting up a number of feet to get some height before kicking off and propelling herself over the lightning storm to slam both her sabers at Thutrel’s back.

He’s forced to leap to the side of the conflict, dodging both her and the lightning. And Vardri is being forced backwards, Celebris’s bright white light swallowing up his lightning. One down for now, Gimrizh reaches out with the force. The nearest pillar gets ripped in half and falls on the bridge, aiming to crush Celebris beneath its weight.

There’s an explosion of noise and dust and from the wreckage, Celebris nimbly lands on top of the fallen pillar, unharmed.

And Gimrizh and Vardri find themselves caught between her and Thutrel. Only Celebris is now between them and the prisoner’s cell, and wasn’t part of the plan to let her get past them? The real trap, after all, is waiting for her there. There’s a moment of utter silence, not a single one of them moving, while they all collectively realize this.

“Go!” Thutrel cries out, finally breaking the moment. He runs forward to engage both Gimrizh and Vardri, one of his few truly offensive attack, “I’ll hold them here - your mission is more important!”

Celebris, without any apparent hesitation at abandoning her ally, turns and leaps off the fallen pillar, running towards where the prisoner is kept - right into the trap Kilran’s set for her. To her fate, even though she doesn’t know it.

Vardri grins and steps forward to meet Thutrel’s blade with his own.

The two clash for only a moment before Gimrizh joins in, stepping into their fight like a dancer enters an arena. She tries to cut down Thutrel whenever his attention is turned towards her fellow and then defends while Vardri strikes. They work well in tandem, even if she’s still half-heartedly hoping Vardri will trip up and get killed.

It’s almost working, they’re two against one and it should be going in their favor. But while Thutrel almost never fights back, he’s constantly defending, his guard nigh unbreakable and to top it off, he’s unexpectedly fast as hell.

They might have an easier time if Thutrel were actually trying to kill them.

In an effort to finally tip the scales, Gimrizh runs for Thutrel’s unprotected back and kicks him, sending him tumbling forward.

He flips to try and regain his balance, but while he’s in the air, Vardri hurtles a wave of lightning at him.

Thutrel brings his saber up to block and the force of it sends him flying.

Right into the prisoner’s cell.

There’s a crash as Thutrel brings the door down, the electricity making the locking system fry and fizzle out and both halves of the door fall to the sides, lightning dissipating through the metal with a crackle of sparks.

“You-” Gimrizh turns to glare at Vardri, “You _idiot_!”

Vardri doesn’t seem that bothered by the fact that they had a carefully thought out plan to separate the enemy and he just _ruined_ it. She did _not_ bring down a force-damned pillar between the two only to have her hard work utterly destroyed only a few minutes later by a rude and obnoxious bastard. “Ah well. We can kill them both anyway.”

They pursue the Jedi back the way they came.

~*~

Celebris knows that she’s walking into a trap. She’s known that it’s a trap since the moment she stepped foot on this prison. Whatever Kilran has planned - she can defeat him. It doesn’t matter if she springs the trap or not, really.

“Kilran,” she says as soon as she steps into the room and sees him standing there just as she expected he would be.

He grins like he’s already won, his confidence floating through the force. “Master Celebris. It’s so wonderful to at last meet you in person.” His voice is practically dripping with insincerity, it’s distasteful. “Congratulations at making it so far into the Maelstrom Prison, really, quite an achievement.”

She cuts to the chase, “I know that you have some sort of plan or trick that you shall attempt. I should inform you now that it will not work.” Already, independent of her own actions here, the plan is being carried out. Their success is already guaranteed. “You cannot win.”

Kilran doesn’t seem phased by this at all - and part of her hadn’t expected him to be. While the Empire might laud him as a brilliant tactician and she’s loathe to underestimate her enemy, his ego has always been his downfall. On Taral V, he assumed that his bombardment would clinch a victory and thus had no contingency plans. Unless of course, he’d wanted them to succeed, but that is perhaps wishful thinking. And - and on _Esseles_ , he’d assumed that a young and inexperienced Jedi could do no harm and so she’d beaten him then too.

“I’m not planning to trick you,” he informs her smugly, “I’m just going to make you a simple offer that you’ve accepted before.”

What does that mean? “I’ve never accepted anything from you,” she states.

He turns to look out through the viewport towards the battle raging outside the prison. “You did. A year ago you left Ambassador Asara behind on my ship because you knew that she was one person and that once I had her, I would leave _Esseles_ , a ship full of civilians, behind. It was perhaps one of the cleverest moves in your career.”

“I was young,” she says, trying not to feel any regret from the incident. She’d made that decision long ago.

“You were _right_ ,” Kilran insists.

No, she was just making a calculated decision - as she always has done. In a war - and they were in a war back then even if no one admitted it - there are sacrifices that have to be made. Not everyone walks out of a battle alive and the secret to ultimate victory is realizing that. Understanding that there are choices to be made and sometimes those choices involve deciding who gets to walk away and who doesn’t. She’d left Asara because the woman had been the price to pay for a ship of innocent lives. One for a hundred.

An easy decision, in the end. The math decided it for her.

She tightens her hand around her lightsaber and resists the desire to activate it and drive it through his head right then and there. He’s still a source of information, even if she’s going to kill him eventually. “What is it that you want?”

“Look,” he gestures to the battle through the transparisteel, “Do you actually believe either side is going to win here?”

An Imperial fighter is blasted into pieces as she watches and she feels the light of the pilot’s life flicker out.

“Whatever happens, massive loss of life is assured,” Kilran continues, “I’m offering a way to prevent that. Surrender, peacefully. Put down your lightsaber and be taken into custody like Ambassador Asara and the Imperial fleet withdraws. No one else has to die. You made the decision that Asara was worth sacrificing - one life for many. Are you that hypocritical that the same scenario shall not apply to yourself?”

Is she?

“I cannot trust in your word - why would you remove a powerful combatant from the fray and then not pursue the advantage?” She’s _not_ considering it.

“And risk losing more of my own forces?” he poses it like it’s such a stupid question.

The math has already made the decision for her. She is not so proud that she would value her own life above those of everyone else fighting above her. If her capture can secure one more victory for the Republic, is it not worth it? There is no risk of the Empire gaining anything, she knows that no matter what torture they place her under, she will not break. The only real question is if she can trust Kilran to keep his word.

The mere notion of _trusting_ Rycus Kilran to do anything is absurd.

And for that matter, what’s to stop her from killing him now and removing him from the equation? If he’s no longer around to lead the Imperial fleet, surely the Republic’s victory would be similarly guaranteed? Only it can’t be, because she doesn’t know who would take over after Kilran’s death and in the time it takes for the Empire to be defeated, how many lives will she sacrifice?

She’s still turning the idea over in her head when Thutrel crashes into the door and brings the whole thing down.

Her friend tries to pull himself up and she moves to his assistance.

Then both Sith leap through the entryway and she springs to action, engaging both of them at once while Thutrel tries to push the chunk of rubble off his torso. And the whole time - Kilran’s just standing there.

“Oh yuck!”

Holiday flickers into being next to the prisoner’s cell and looks over the whole thing with an expression of complete revolution.

Thank the force - “Holiday!” Celebris orders, pushing Gimrizh back with her staff, “Get the containment field down!”

She puts her hands on her hips, “Don’t worry, this thing is so disgustingly old that it’s coming down pretty easy. Good thing too. I’d much rather be with my Tharan than here with this outdated piece of rubbish-” There’s a low vibrating sound as the entire containment unit shuts down, “Finally,” Holiday sniffs, “I’m off!”

And the holowoman vanishes while the prisoner’s bonds disappear and he falls to the ground like a toy that’s had it’s strings cut.

“Do _not_ let the prisoner escape!” Kilran barks out.

Vardri attacks Celebris again with a burst of lightning and moves so that he’s between her and the prisoner, “Kill him!” he practically laughs.

She’s about to wonder who he’s talking to when she sees it.

Thutrel finally throws the rubble off himself and tries to run, only he’s clearly damaged his leg and he’s a second too slow. Celebris tries to subdue her opponent, but the Sith just channels everything he has into his lightning like he doesn’t give a damn if he kills himself doing it and - she isn’t quick enough.

Gimrizh is _right_ next to the prisoner and she pulls him to his knees, the poor man barely conscious, blinking and disoriented from the stasis containment.

“Do it!” Vardri screams.

The Sith drags her blades across the prisoner’s throat.

His head topples to the ground and Celebris can feel a shockingly bright presence in the force leave his body.

~*~

Gimrizh barely even knows why she does it - Vardri is yelling at her, ordering her, and all she can think about it that they aren’t supposed to let the prisoner escape and surely dead is better than giving the Republic another powerful player in the war. Her lightsabers seem to move on their own, really.

It’s over and done with in a second and everybody stops moving.

Vardri falls back, the lightning show disappearing as he - not retreats really, because that would imply defeat. It’s more like how a nexu sometimes moves to the darker edges of the fight to prowl around it’s prey. Vardri, like all feral animals, smells blood but isn’t going in for the kill yet. He’s just keeping an eye on his prey.

The two Jedi on the other hand, seem to be a mix of shocked - Thutrel - and irritated - Celebris. They too stand still as the prisoner’s dead body falls to the ground.

“You didn’t need to kill him,” Thutrel whispers, as dejected as though she’s kicked a loth cat in front of him, “There were other options, there are always other options.”

Vardri rolls his eyes, “Do shut up, your constant whining is rather grating, you know.”

It’s Kilran who seems actually somewhat annoyed by her actions. He’d been the one to specify capture above execution before, but didn’t she have no choice here? If she hadn’t killed him, the prisoner would have gotten away. “Well,” Kilran says finally, turning away from her and back to the person who’s really the focus of his attention, Celebris, “That’s one variable removed from the equation, wouldn’t you say?”

Celebris’s saberstaff is lowered at her side, but she appears no less terrifying as she turns her glare towards Kilran, “You just killed one more innocent.”

“No,” Kilran points at Gimrizh, “ _She_ did. However, semantics. I digress. My offer still stands. Stand down, and save the Republic forces here. Refuse and…” he gestures to the prisoner’s corpse to make his meaning clear.

“You have just proved that you do not care for innocent lives,” she declares firmly - _righteously_ \- “I have no reason to trust that you care for the fates of those people out there.”

Kilran sighs, as though her defiance barely matters to him, “Then you force my hand,” he steps back so that they all can watch.

The massive Republic flagship is breaking off from the rest of the fleet and making a mad dash for the _Emperor’s Glory_. It’s failed move, Gimrizh knows it. There’s no way that ship, already trailing smoke from numerous places on its hull, is going to actually win. It’s a last ditch effort because the Republic is hard pressed the defend, caught between the Empire and the prison as they are.

“Master Oteg - he’s the one commanding _Telos_ , yes?” Kilran confirms before moving on, “he’s spread his forces too thin. _Telos_ is a defense ship, and what shall happen to all those smaller vessels now that they’re caught in the open? After all, fighters have greater maneuverability than, say, a _Defender_ -class light corvette?”

~*~

“Get those fighters off our tail!” Zenith punches a button on the terminal and a missile explodes one of the enemy ships.

Felix glances back to where Nadia is silently clutching at the gun controls, her hands whiter than usual and her face a poor mask of calm. The girl obligingly starts firing again, even though there’s no real use - every time they blow up a fighter another damn ship comes in and takes its place. It’s like the Empire has some kind of tracking beacon on them or something, even though Felix knows that can’t be true.

He puts _Sky Hunter_ into a sharp dive to avoid the next few bursts of blaster fire.

Of all the damn times for the _Telos_ to go on the warpath - a bolt shatters a scant few feet away, this time coming from one of the prison’s defense turrets.

Zenith - who he’s always privately thought would be secretly thrilled at the prospect of being specifically targeted by the Empire - fires again. They use the brief smoke cloud from the destroyed fighter as cover while Felix spins the ship around as fast as they can. It’s tricky, they’re not as small as a fighter and they present a much bigger target.

He can do it though - he’s got his girl down there in that prison and the faster they win the fight up here the more help he can give her on the ground.

~*~

Celebris freezes.

She hadn’t been moving before, but this is different. This isn’t the stillness before a fight, this is rigid and icy and _terror_. Her eyes go ever so slightly wide as she tracks the path of a light corvette that’s desperately trying to outrun a string of ISF interceptors even as it gets pushed closer towards the prison’s canons. Gimrizh doesn’t know who exactly is on that ship, but she knows that look. It’s the same one that she herself would have if that ship were _Horizon_.

It’s fear and horror and the knowledge that there is absolutely nothing she can do about it - just watch.

“ _Sky Hunter_ ,” Kilran continues, “Such a famous ship now. Pity, of course, that fame makes it so very easy for my fighters to track it down and take it out.”

“I shall kill you,” Celebris says, her voice shaking.

Kilran clicks his tongue like scolding a child, “Now now. I don’t have any control over my pilots - they’re just doing as they’re supposed to. It was Master Oteg who decided that _Sky Hunter_ and the lives onboard don’t matter when he decided to advance and leave that ship undefended and easily attacked.”

Celebris doesn’t move an inch, her eyes focused on that ship. “Don’t you dare.”

“Surrender,” Kilran offers, “and I can call my pilots and tell them to stand down and leave _Sky Hunter_ alone.”

Thutrel takes a step forward, “Don’t!” he pleads, “I can send _Penumbra_ to save your ship, you can’t give yourself up! You’re my friend! I could not bare to see you tortured at the hands of the Empire!”

Beneath the cold hard rock of a volcano, Gimrizh thinks, is lava hot enough to burn everything to ash. She takes a few hesitant steps closer, a warning on her lips.

Celebris turns to speak to Thutrel and behind her, _Sky Hunter_ goes up in a ball of fire.

~*~

Her world burns.

The force rips through her without mercy, and she feels as Zenith and Nadia and - _oh stars please no_ \- Felix die.

She senses every scream, every inch of pain -

Their lights go out and she _feels_ it like it’s happening to her _it is_ she’s on her ship _she burns too_ -

Felix _oh force why_ -

He can’t be dead - he’s supposed to be there when she comes back - what is there to look forward to at the end of the day if not Felix’s laugh and his broad hands that fit so perfectly around her’s and what can she do without her friend, her companion, Zenith, such a visionary - he has _plans_ \- he can’t - Nadia - stars - a _child_ she’s just a _child_ just barely a padawan and Celebris is supposed to protect her and keep her safe and she - she -

She can still feel Nadia dying. Felix’s last breath sits heavy in her lungs.

And she - she was about to surrender! She was about to give up and Kilran would call off the attack and they would _still be alive_ and -

And they’re not - because of - because of - because Thutrel made her stop and if she hadn’t been distracted she could have put her hands up and gotten captured and her love would still be alive and _it’s all his fault_!

It’s not _fair_ that they’re dead! Those pilots should burn for what they did! Thutrel should _burn for what he did_!

She’s being ripped apart all she can feel is their deaths in the force, over and over and over -

 _Burning_ -

_Drowning -_

_Falling -_

~*~

The ground beneath Celebris’s feet cracks as she falls to her knees. Her lightsaber drops from her trembling hands. Her head rolls back as her entire body just sags. There’s a scream building on her lips that never draws breath and Thutrel can feel it in the force.

He has to help her - she’s his friend.

Neither Sith nor the Grand Moff stop him as he runs to stand in front of her, hoping that there’s something he can do for her. “Please, Celebris,” he begs, looking at her blank face and praying that it is not too late, “Please, you’re my friend, you’ve done such good for the Jedi Order and the Republic - Your crew served you so well - “

“Don’t,” Gimrizh whispers, taking a few slow and cautious steps towards the two of them, “Get away from her.”

How can she say that? Gimrizh must know what his friend is going through, he knows that she’s reasonable and compassionate, though she hides behind the mantle of a Sith for some reason that he doesn’t understand. If there’s something in his power to help Celebris, then he is bound both by duty to a friend and to a comrade to help her. He knows that if his crew were dead, he too would desire some form of comfort.

“Celebris,” he tries again, more urgently because they are most certainly running out of time, even though the Grand Moff hasn’t done anything since she collapsed and the second Sith is stalking the edges of the room, too far away to really be planning something. “You must listen to me. It is natural to mourn, but you must do what we as Jedi know to be truth - release your pain and hurt into the force -”

Gimrizh takes another step forward, close enough to touch Celebris but too scared to do so, hovering just shy of actually reaching out. Even as she’s only a foot away from him and less than that from his friend, she still doesn’t dare actually touch either, “Stop,” she implores him, fear in her eyes, “You don’t know - she’s dangerous.”

“She’s my _friend_ ,” Thutrel insists. He extends a hand to Celebris, “Please, my friend, surrender your grief -”

At last - she finally looks at him - and her beautiful brown eyes are red red _red_ -

With a wordless roar, her saberstaff explodes into life and it flies into her hand - she moves to strike him -

Thutrel dodges.

Gimrizh doesn’t.

A saberstaff is double edged, and Celebris pulls her secondary blade out of Gimrizh’s heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all for now folks!  
> A few notes:  
> \- Alda is the traditional Alderaanian language that's not spoken very often anymore. In my head, it sounds like Spanish. Thus, Jesse y Joy's Chocolate.  
> \- Ship names, so you guys don't get confused. Thutrel has Penumbra, Celebris has Sky Hunter, and even though it's not mentioned here, Vardri has Blood Biter cause he's an edgelord  
> \- Comments? I live for comments


	15. Fifty Words for Murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, FallenAscendant's back as my beta for this chapter!  
> Er, warnings in the chapter for Kilran emotionally manipulating/gaslighting Celebris. I try to not show too much cause uughh but it's there.  
> This chapter, aka: Gimrizh and the not so good very bad day, Quinn and Kilran hatch a plan, and I watch way too much How to Get Away With Murder

“No,” Thutrel stares as the one person who could have helped him find Yaina again falls to the ground. “No, please,” he gapes at his friend, “Celebris, you didn’t have to…? Don’t do this - don’t go down that dark path… you’re a _good_ _person_ I know you are...”

She just glares at him with those unnatural red eyes and pulls her saber back to strike at him again. He leaps backwards, ready to defend.

There’s a blast of light. Electricity sparks at Vardri’s fingertips as he  sends another arc of lightning towards Celebris. Thutrel doesn’t realize in time, doesn’t move fast enough to protect her, he assumes that she will see it coming and block it herself as she has always done when they’ve been in battles and he lets her get electrocuted.

The lightning crackles around her body as the strike connects. She screams and her lightsaber falls from her hands, spasms racking through her.

Her eyes roll back in her head and she collapses.

What once was a bright shining light in the force is now a dim thing that Thutrel can only barely sense. She used to shine like a sun and instead her presence is like a corruption upon her surroundings, an open wound in the force. It pulses pain and anger. It hurts him to sense her out and there’s relief in the force as she passes out - not dead, no, she’s too strong for that, just unconscious.

Thutrel runs towards her to try and catch her, “You didn’t have to hurt her!” he cries at Vardri, “You didn’t need to do that!”

The force calls a warning to him, a whisper in his ear. He turns around just in time to block a blaster bolt with his lightsaber.

Grand Moff Kilran has his blaster rifle raised and pointed at Thutrel’s head. When he sees that his first shot failed, he fires again. Thutrel skids backward and throws the bolt to the side, quickly bringing his blade back to deflect the third shot and then the fourth. He tightens his defense and lowers his stance after the fifth shot. Lightsaber or no, heavy sniper-grade blaster bolts aren’t easy to consistently deflect.

“I won’t let you hurt her anymore,” Thutrel declares, flicking a bolt to the side, “You’ve done more than enough damage here.”

Kilran smirks, “I’ve barely done anything. Ask yourself what _you’ve_ done.”

What _has_ he done? He’s utterly failed in his duty as a friend. He’s let Celebris be hurt, both by Vardri’s lightning and by her crew’s deaths. There should have been more he could have done, something to save _Sky Hunter_ , something to make sure she’s alright. Instead, he failed, and now everything is wrong. When he first began this fight he’d promised himself that he could make Gimrizh stand down, that he could subdue Vardri and let the Twi’lek get the help that he needs to step onto the light path.

Like all foolish men, he’d thought he could save everyone and had instead lost everyone.

“I will do my utmost to keep Celebris safe,” he swears.

“Well,” Kilran comments, glancing over Thutrel’s shoulder, “You’ve done a spectacular job so far.”

The man fires one last bolt before slinging the rifle over his shoulder and dropping a flash grenade.

Bright light blinds Thutrel and he stops, closing his eyes and trying to feel his surroundings with the force. No one approaches him, and he senses Kilran retreat -

He finally opens his stinging eyes to see Vardri and the Grand Moff retreating to a shuttle moored on a landing pad just outside. A squad of Imperial soldiers guards the two of them, bad odds, but not insurmountable ones. Thrown over Vardri’s shoulders is Celebris’s limp body.

Thutrel runs to the door, his eyes blurring briefly with afterimages and he misses the door panel twice.

When he finally gets the door open, the shuttle is already taking off - his friend onboard.

No - what can he do now?

He pulls out his comlink and dials the only frequency that he knows by heart. “Kira,” he says once the call connects, “I need you to bring _Penumbra_ to my location as soon as you can, please.”

“ _What?_ ” There’s a pause as Kira presumably sees where his locator is broadcasting from, “ _But there’s no hangar bay where you are? Where am I supposed to land?”_

“There’s a shuttle pad in front of me,” he tells her, “It will be big enough.”

A bit of static, and then Kira’s back, “ _Okay, master. On my way_.”

Thutrel closes the call and then digs through his pockets to find a piece of flimsi that he’d tucked in there at the start of the battle. Normally when he wants to get in touch with Celebris he uses her ship’s holo, not her personal frequency or those of any of her crew but- well. There wouldn’t be a point in trying to call _Sky Hunter_. He dials the frequency and hopes that Tharan Cedrax is listening.

“Tharan,” he says, “I need you and Qyzen-Fess to come to my position as soon as possible. I’m in the -”

“ _I know where you are,”_ Tharan replies, “ _I’ve got Holiday ripping up the security systems, by the way. A few more minutes and she should be able to take down the laser cannons, she’s ever so impressive.”_

They don’t have that kind of time, not if he’s going to catch up with Kilran, “We need to leave now. Let her do whatever she can on the way, but we need to go.”

“ _Very well,_ ” he agrees, “ _We’re on our way_.”

Thutrel tucks his comlink away and waits. There’s nothing he can do anymore, he can’t fly after that shuttle without a ship, even though he wishes he could. If only he could wake Celebris and help her escape from here. It’s just wishful thinking. He’s grounded till _Penumbra_ gets here. He tries to peer through the fire and smoke to see his ship.

The _Telos_ is burning.

As he watches, he senses Master Oteg and a massive portion of the ship’s crew die. Just like that, the engines catch fire, and they go up in flames and smoke.

Another great Jedi. Another casualty of a needless and relentlessly violent war. He clutches his fist to his chest and bows, the last bit of respect he can give to a legendary Jedi such as Master Oteg. And he watches as the shuttle carrying his friend docks in the _Emperor’s Glory_ and vanishes from his sight. Like the last rays of a dying sun, the tiny shuttle utterly disappears into the star destroyer’s bulk.

Alright, he thinks. He can still salvage this. Somehow, he can still get his friend back. He’s not sure how, but he _has_ to.

He eventually makes his way back to where the two bodies lie on the floor. Gimrizh, someone he really had hope for and the prisoner whose name he still doesn’t even know. But it had been his job to save that man and he had failed. And he had taken it upon himself to help Gimrizh and he had failed there too. Guilt coils in his stomach. Despite his hopes of saving his friend, there is no chance for the man in front of him and the only hope Gimrizh has is based on how quickly _Penumbra_ lands. One more aspect out of his hands.

There is a steadily growing pool of blood beneath Gimrizh’s body that makes Thutrel struggle to push down his worry. He knows no first aid, has never been hurt that badly himself, has no clue what to do for her. The fear of making things worse for her is what stays his hand - he wants to hold her and try to help her, but he could very well kill her faster.

“Oh, well that’s unpleasant,” Tharan Cedrax says as he enters the chamber, “An enemy?”

That’s not accurate. Or well, it _is_ , but Thutrel has always hoped that someday it might not be anymore, “Someone I… I still have hope for her.”

Qyzen-Fess just scoffs at that comment. “ _Where is Herald?”_

“Gone,” Thutrel tells him. It’s a difficulty to form the words, they tumble around in his mouth before he can articulate them, “She was taken - Kilran has her and I don’t know how to get her back.”

“ _Herald is not a soft thing that falls in battle_ ,” Qyzen insists, “ _She will fight every enemy at every turn._ _No one can trap her and keep her._ ”

Normally he would agree with the Trandoshan. Celebris has always been the strongest Jedi he knows, someone who can break armies apart and strike truly.

The holowoman appears next to Tharan, a burst of pink and purple, “Tharan?” Holiday asks, her voice hitching in a way that he didn’t think it could, “Tharan, I’ve lost _Sky Hunter_. I don’t know where she is. Her signal is gone. I’ve tried to relay myself back to her main systems, but it’s not working and I’m _stuck_ here.”

“ _Sky Hunter_ is -” Thutrel doesn’t want to say it, “She’s gone.”

Tharan’s normally flippant attitude fades, “You mean she’s- our home- “

He nods, “I saw her get blown out of the sky. I felt it as -” he had tried so hard to block out the pain in the force of that moment. It’s the Jedi way not to feel such anguish and he does try his best to uphold that ideal. “The three aboard the ship died. There wasn’t anything that we could have done.”

“ _They fought well_ ,” Qyzen says respectfully, bowing his head for a brief moment.

While the Trandoshan seems to accept it rather quickly, Tharan appears somewhat blindsided, “But - Nadia’s a _child_.”

Thutrel has nothing to say to that.

Holiday’s face glitches and she bursts into tears before vanishing.

The training bond between him and Kira shortens as _Penumbra_ approaches the landing pad. Outside, he can see his ship touchdown precariously on the small port that’s really only built for something as small as a shuttle. “My ship can take us back to the Republic fleet. Now that Kilran’s lost the prisoner and - _taken_ both Celebris and Master Oteg, he has no reason to continue the fight. We should be able to make our retreat.”

He reaches out with the force and the two bodies on the floor are slowly lifted up. Even though the prisoner is long dead, he refuses to leave the poor man behind to rot on the floor of a jail cell. Better a funeral, a respectful passing.

They make their way out to _Penumbra_ , Thutrel trying to concentrate on keeping both bodies from falling.

Kira rushes down the gangplank to meet him, “Master! I saw what happened to _Sky Hunter_! Where’s Master Celebris?”

“She’s -,” Thutrel doesn’t want to have to say it again, “Kilran has her. Get Doc.”

Kira’s frozen by the news, her shock radiating through the force. Then it fades to a far more worrisome emotion as her eyes focus on Gimrizh. Her lower lip puckers, “Master. You want Doc to save a _Sith_? They’re the one’s - for star’s sake, have you lost it? Seriously? A krething _Sith_? On our home?”

He places a firm hand on her shoulder, hopefully a reassurance as well, “Please. I am not losing anyone else today.”

“I don’t like this,” Kira protests. She goes to get Doc anyway.

~*~

“I don’t _know_ ,” Jaesa says, trying not to panic as they disembark a battered _Horizon_ , “It was just a short burst of pain, she normally keeps everything locked up tight anyways. It's difficult to say _what_ I felt."

Their ship landed on board the _Emperor’s Glory_ as soon as the fleet abandoned the Maelstrom Nebula. The Republic had fled, and although Malavai personally thinks that they could have pursued the Republic and destroyed what was left of the enemy fleet, he does recognize that they suffered casualties as well. The Republic flagship, _Telos_ , was destroyed, and since Kilran’s shuttle returned to the star destroyer shortly before the retreat order was given, he assumes that the mission to secure the prison was successful.

They just haven’t heard anything from Lord Gimrizh yet and it has been a significant number of hours since the battle ended. She would have returned to _Horizon_ by now.

“Try again,” he demands, determined to get to the bottom of whatever it is Jaesa’s sensing.

“I _am_ trying,” she says again, “I can’t sense anything from her. Our training bond hasn’t broken, it’s still there, but that’s it. There’s nothing else.”

Malavai frowns. For all her uses as a Sith apprentice, Jaesa is rather vague when it comes to explaining whatever bits and pieces she gets from the force. “That pathetic excuse isn’t good enough.”

“Hey!” Vette points her finger at him, “Back off! She’s doing her best - what are _you_ doing?”

Fine. If you want something done right, do it yourself.

“I’m going to speak with Grand Moff Kilran. Someone around here has to find out what’s going on,” he replies. He turns to Pierce, hoping that there is _some_ sense of discipline in that man, enough to get a job done at least, “Lieutenant, get _Horizon_ repaired while I’m gone.”

Pierce crosses his arms and glares, “You don’t get to give orders just because the boss hasn’t come back yet.”

This is _not_ the time, “Technically, I _do_ ,” he reminds him.

Nothing more to say, he turns on his heels and leaves the hangar bay. They’ll either get the ship fixed or they won’t, he has more important things to be concerned with.

It’s been _hours_ , he _knows_ that Gimrizh would have at least made a call by now. She’s usually more reliable. There is the possibility, however slim, that there were complications during their mission. It’s not a chance that he wants to consider. Grand Moff Kilran has a high rate of success when it comes to military operations like this one. That’s not even considering the fact that they were accompanied by a second Sith. While Vardri is a rather detestable person, the title of Sith Lord is not given out lightly.

Normally, he would not be so concerned, but Jaesa has given them all reason to be. Whatever happened to Gimrizh echoed some measure of pain back to her apprentice. She’s likely injured, but how badly? And why has no one informed them in any capacity, despite the fact that the battle has been over and won for a while now.

He’s debating whether it might be a better use of his time to head straight to the medbay when he finds that he’s standing in front of Kilran’s office. He’s too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice at first.

An ensign stops him at the door, “The Grand Moff has asked not to be disturbed -”

“I’m Captain Quinn, in command of Lord Gimrizh’s ship, _Horizon_ ,” he explains impatiently, “Lord Gimrizh was part of the prison defense operation and I’m inquiring as to her whereabouts. I’m certain that the Grand Moff will see me, if you ask.”

The ensign hesitates and then he caves, “Wait here a moment.” He ducks inside the office for a minute and then returns. “The Grand Moff will see you now,” he reluctantly says, opening the door and standing aside.

“Thank you,” Malavai says, quickly stepping inside.

Kilran is sitting behind a massive desk, a series of holos playing out across the terminal. There’s glimpses of a layout depicting the ship positions in the fleet, a security feed from the ship’s cell blocks, what looks like someone’s medical file. Once the door shuts behind Malavai, Kilran presses a button and the holos blink out.

“Captain,” he says, “Just in time. I thought you’d be interested in knowing that the mission was a success on all counts.”

Malavai’s blindsided by the statement, and he fumbles between differing questions for a moment, “Sir?”

Kilran pulls up the security feed, “We managed to kill the prisoner before the Republic escaped with him, and more importantly-” The image zooms in to focus on Celebris, slumped over in a cell aboard the _Emperor’s Glory_. Thick bruises sit under her oddly discolored eyes and she appears to drift in and out of awareness. “We’ve captured the Jedi Order’s Barsen’thor.”

“The plan to turn her to our side -” He takes a second look at her eyes. It’s difficult to tell, given the blue of the holo, but he’s certain they’re a different color than they were before, “I’ll assume that she fell, given the physical changes that the dark side causes.”

“It _is_ quite remarkable, isn’t it?” Kilran muses, his gaze fixed on the holo.

Something else he said sticks in Malavai’s mind, “And the prisoner was killed?”

“Regrettably, yes,” Kilran replies. He finally closes the feed and laces his fingers together, “I had hoped to keep the man alive. Darth Malgus is most displeased by his death and so am I. That man was a considerable asset to the Empire,” he sighs and dismisses it, “What’s done is done. I suppose that some measure of congratulations are in order. Your lord did kill _the_ Revan after all. If he hadn’t been so negatively affected by the stasis chamber, it might have even been a real accomplishment.”

Gimrizh killed Revan? Darth Revan, three hundred years old, double agent, Sith and Jedi of legendary power, Revan?

What the hell was Revan doing in an Imperial prison in the middle of a nebula? Honestly, Malavai and the rest of the Empire had been told that the man was dead. History says he died. It’s… surreal to consider the possibility that not only had the man been alive this whole time, but that Gimrizh was the one to finally end his life.

“Where is she?” he finally asks.

Kilran opens a drawer and places a rank badge on the desk. “Dead. Congratulations, you’ve been promoted to captain, second rank. I’ll have _Horizon_ transferred to your command, and oh, there’s that lieutenant as well. I suppose you can do what you want with him. Inform Jaesa Willsaam that she’s to report to the Citadel on Dromund Kaas for reassignment.”

That can’t -

He refuses to accept that.

“Permission to speak freely?" he asks.

Kilran doesn't seem to care, "Granted."

"I don’t believe that,” he says carefully, the words fuzzy as he tries to think of reasons why that is _impossible_ , “Jaesa Willsaam would have sensed her death in the force if that were the case.”

She _can’t_ be. He knows her, knows that if she killed _Revan_ for star’s sake, then she couldn’t have - The Barsen’thor was always the biggest threat to them, Gimrizh has been afraid of the woman since Hoth, even if she hates to admit it - It’s still not a possibility that he’s going to consider. They _won_ , that means she has to be alive. She has to be alive because -

Kilran shrugs, “See for yourself.”

He pulls up a holo from the Maelstrom prison. There’s the Jedi Thutrel - Malavai never liked him - saying something to a figure crouched on the ground, Celebris. Gimrizh cautiously approaches the two, her hands held out in front of her. Celebris moves, her lightsaber flies to her hand, stabbing out at Thutrel.

The reverse blade on her weapon activates and goes straight through Gimrizh’s heart. And his lord falls to the ground. She doesn’t move.

The footage plays through, fastforwarding through time as Celebris is dragged off and eventually Thutrel carries both Revan and Gimrizh away and onto a ship just out of the holo’s range. Eventually, it glitches out, pauses, and replays. He watches a second time as the lightsaber goes through her. Sees that small breathless gasp of hers as her eyes widen before rolling back in her head. Sees her crumple and start to bleed out, the heat from the lightsaber only partially cauterizing the wound, and blood runs down her lips.

Every detail is burned into his skull as the feed plays a third time. Kilran is apparently content to let him stare at it until the facts sink in, but that’s not what Malavai’s watching for. He catches the detail the fourth time. The lightsaber goes through her heart.

“She’s not dead,” he says with utter certainty - and the sheer _relief_ it is to say those words.

Kilran scoffs, “Yes, and while I’m certain that most people can survive a stab wound through the heart - “

Malavai cuts him off, not even caring that he’s speaking to one of the highest ranked members of the military, second only to Darth Malgus and the Minister of War, “Zabraks,” he informs him, biting out the words, “have two hearts.”

There’s a pause. Kilran raises an eyebrow and in that moment, Malavai isn’t certain whether the Grand Moff knew that to begin with or not. It’s hard to tell with that man. He always seems to be one step ahead of everyone else, always playing one more game, administering one more test just to see if he can be beaten. It’s one of the reasons Malavai finds himself admiring the man, if a bit infuriated on occasion.

“Interesting,” Kilran comments, giving away nothing, “So she allowed herself to be captured by the Republic then? Pity, that. Alive and in the hands of the Republic is almost worse than death.”

Is that it? Is the Grand Moff really going to let her merely remain a prisoner of the Republic? It’s unacceptable. “With all due respect, Lord Gimrizh has made more contributions to the Empire than nearly any other Sith in her station. It would be a disservice to her and her work to simply abandon her to the Republic.”

“You’re proposing we retrieve her?” Kilran sneers condescendingly, “From the center of Republic space?”

What _is_ he proposing? Kilran’s right, they can’t simply storm into the prisons on Coruscant. There must be some way, though. “No, I’m not,” Malavai decides, his mind whirring away as he talks, “I am well aware that any frontal assault on Republic space would be a fool’s venture. I suggest that we contact the Republic and inform them that we are willing to exchange prisoners.”

Kilran scoffs, “The Barsen’thor is worth more to me. I thought you were cleverer than that.”

“I wouldn’t _give up_ a piece of her value,” Malavai counters quickly, “What do you think the Republic would do if offered the Barsen’thor in exchange for a mere Sith Lord? They would jump at the bait and when the transfer is over, they’d have their Jedi back. You’ve seen it yourself, the Barsen’thor isn’t exactly a Jedi anymore. She’d be a live bomb, heading back to the Senate Tower or the Jedi Temple, or wherever you’d like a massacre.”

“She’s unstable,” Kilran dismisses, “I’ve already been looking through the remnants of Imperial Intelligence's brainwashing program, but all data regarding it has disappeared. One moment of turning to the dark side is a start, but it isn’t loyalty to the level that you’re talking about.  She’s angry and broken, not a patriot.”

No, that’s irrelevant. It doesn’t actually matter what the Barsen’thor’s opinion of the Empire is, as long as she can be convinced to follow the order. Patriotism is just one option. “Give me time, and I can get her to cooperate.”

Kilran frowns, a thoughtful expression tugging at the scars covering half his face. He’s considering it, thank the force. “I’m not going to put my credits on this venture just yet. I’d be calling in a number of favors to allow this little project, and Darth Malgus is already rather peeved at Revan’s death.”

“What do you need?” Malavai offers.

“Give me specifics. Where would this exchange take place?” Kilran challenges, “You’d need a planet that’s at least _partially_ neutral, located between Dromund Kaas and Coruscant, and then you’d need to convince someone in charge to let you hold this operation there - I’m not pulling any strings to help you on that front.”

“Taris,” he says confidently, “Moff Hurdenn has already professed his indebtedness to Lord Gimrizh.”

There’s a tiny smirk growing on Kilran’s lips, “Oh? Convenient. And who would be your contact in the Republic?”

“I have access to Thutrel Rineth’s personal holo frequency,” he informs Kilran. All those months ago on Alderaan, when the Jedi had tried to get him to pass the number on to Gimrizh, he’d kept the scrap of flimsy instead and placed it in his records. Even though at the time he’d thought Thutrel to be of little significance, throwing out a piece of valuable information is simply not something he’d ever do.

Kilran pauses and Malavai thinks that he’s finally caught the man off guard. “One month,” Kilran decides, “You have one month to get Celebris to do what she’s told. If at any point I think that you’ve overstepped your bounds, I’ll cut it off. You will follow my orders to the _letter_. I have, after all, been doing this for a lot longer than you.”

“Thank you,” Malavai says honestly,

“I’ll give you and whoever else you recruit access to Celebris’s cell,” Kilran allows, typing up the message on a datapad, “I’ll back this idea of yours - do not make me regret this.”

“You won’t,” he promises, “I assure you.”

Kilran waves a hand at the door, “Then you have a lot of work to do, captain. Dismissed.”

He snaps off a salute before leaving the office and passing the ensign that hands him a prison access card on his way out.

They’re going to get Lord Gimrizh back.

~*~

“That’s it?” A tiny, _insignificant_ girl says, “You refuse to tell us that my master is alive when you damn well would have sensed her life in the force, you refuse to stay and confront what you did to Celebris, and now you’re just leaving?”

Vardri’s bored already. He pauses on _Blood Biter’s_ gangplank and crosses his arms. Stars, if Ashara were this annoying, he’d have either killed himself or his apprentice a long time ago. How that other little lord managed to deal with this one is a mystery that he really doesn’t give a shit about. “Listen, little girl, I have a whole plethora of things that I’d rather be doing. Listening to your insipid complaints isn’t on the list.”

"What _do_ you care about?" She asks, staring at him like she's trying to read his mind.

Stars, she's rude. Like it's any of her business what he does with his time. Maybe a bit of electrocution would reinforce his point. This soft girl probably has never been shot full of lightning before. Cushy sort of life, that. "Oh," Vardri says with a roll of his eyes, "All the usual things - the glory of the Empire and such."

The girl keeps up that odd, intense stare, "You're lying."

How _dare_ she -

He bristles and his fingers claw at empty air, ready to burst into electricity at a second's provocation. "Get out of my head, little girl. You're messing with things you don't understand and can't handle."

"You have no loyalty to the Empire, do you?" She continues, "Your loyalty is entirely to yourself and the Sith Order. Even then, you didn't care to help my master, despite belonging to our same faction. You lack empathy."

"It's called not giving a fuck," Vardri sneers.

She doesn't flinch, "My master would have helped you. If it were you that had been hurt, she would have gotten you out."

That's unlikely. "No, she wouldn't have," he tells her, "Grow up, darling."

~*~

There are two holes in Celebris's brain.

One is a ripped connection where the training bond she shared with Nadia used to be. It's not a thing that's supposed to be broken like that and it pulses pain. Training bonds should be mutually relinquished once a padawan becomes a knight, given up because they are no longer a necessity. Not shredded like hers is now, a hanging tattered thing that's been forcefully removed from her very being.

If the first is a hole, the second is a gaping maw. The bond she had forged with Felix was never designed to be broken because it had never been _designed_ to begin with. It had just _happened_ and now she's paying the price.

Where there used to be a durasteel cable linking her to her love, there is now a ripped up, leftover, mass of damaged threads in the force. It's steadily leaking what she can only describe as the force equivalent of blood. The agony is nigh unbearable, she can't form a coherent thought without the pain driving her mad. Every moment is a reminder that Felix is gone, every touch of the force is an echo of his dying moments.

The thick cuffs around her wrists are a blessing. They suppress her force abilities, ostensibly to keep her from escape, but in actuality are the only thing that keeps her from sheer insanity.

All she feels is pain and hatred. She's stuck in a limbo, unable to release her emotions into the force and unwilling to touch the force at all, shying away from the grief and torture that has crashed over her like a wave.

"I am so sorry that this has happened to you," Kilran says. Without the force to guide her, she genuinely can't tell if he's sincere or not, "I regret that it came to this."

That can't be true, "Your ships," she says numbly, "they shot down _Sky Hunter_. It was you."

"What were my pilots to do?" He counters, "It was the middle of a battle. _Sky Hunter_ was an enemy ship. What would you have done?"

"No," she thinks, "you targeted them on purpose."

He shakes his head sadly, "No. There wasn't a target order. The reason _Sky Hunter_ was shot down was because Master Oteg took the _Telos_ and abandoned his position as forward guard. Had he remained behind, _Sky Hunter_ would have been shielded from any fighters."

"Your ship was advancing," Celebris tries, "Oteg had no choice."

"Of course he had a choice, and he chose to let your ship go down and your crew be killed," and Kilran says it all in such a certain and light tone that she thinks he's right.

She herself blamed Oteg in the moment, only thinking to forgive him after the fact. Maybe her initial thought wasn't wrong at all. Oteg had a _job_ to do, was meant to keep her ship safe. He failed. Who _does_ she blame?"

"And then there was your friend, Thutrel," Kilran continues, "had he not tried to talk you out of reasonable surrender, your crew would still be alive."

An unexpected well of fury boils up inside her, "Thutrel should have stayed out of it."

"Yes, he should have," he agrees, "Look at the disaster he caused. Would you like to get revenge for what he did?"

" _Yes_ ," she snarls before becoming confused again, "No - I - You're trying to trick me."

Kilran just stares at her, "Look at you. Why would I _bother_?"

Before she can think of a reply to that, he turns around and the thick durasteel cell door slams shut behind him, locking her in. Alone, with just the two ripped up connections to drive her mad.

~*~

Gimrizh wakes up.

This is an unexpected development.

White light burns into her eyes and her whole body feels like it's on fire. She tries to scream, only to find her lungs dry as Korriban and its painful as hell to draw breath. She tries again and discovers a mask over her mouth, forcing oxygen down her windpipe. She moves to rip the thing from her face and can't move.

Heavy metal binders keep her arms and legs pinned to a surgical gurney, binding her in place. She reaches out into the force only to be blocked off from it. It hangs out of reach, fuzzy and hazy. She's heard about cuffs and restraints that can keep a force sensitive locked up but she's never - it's so much more limiting than she would have imagined.

The pain burns at the front of her mind and she can't use the force to placate it at all.

"Good," a thin man in medical white says, "You're awake."

"Where-" she rasps, the words coming through the mask painfully slowly, "- am I?"

He injects a syringe filled with something or other into an IV near her bed. The transparent liquid trickles through the bag and down a thin tube into the crook of her elbow. “Coruscant,” he tells her flatly.

If she weren’t so sedated, she’d have a panic attack. “Why…?” she tries to tug at the cuffs again.

“You’re scheduled for interrogation in a few days. We had to take you out of the kolto tank early,” he informs her. He tosses out the syringe and jerks his thumb at a kolto tank on the other end of the medical room, “SIS didn’t want you fully healed before hand. You’ll be kept on a kolto drip for a while though, otherwise your primary heart might heal improperly.”

Stars - they’re going to interrogate her. If the Republic does even _half_ of what the Empire does to its prisoners, she’s _fucked_. Hell. Even if it’s a walk in the park and all they ask her for is what her favorite food is, she’s fucked. She’s in Republic hands now and she knows better than to assume she’s ever getting out.

“Who…” she swallows thickly, “brought me… here?”

“Jedi Knight Rineth,” the medic says, “Tell me if there’s any increased chest pain.”

She glares at him, “Fuck you.”

The man rolls his eyes and preps a dose of kolto, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

A steady trickle of kolto drips into her veins and eventually, the medic leaves. A droid takes his place, a silent sentinel at the door that’s probably only there to drug her if she tries anything and stop her from actively dying. Perhaps it’s nighttime and the medic’s shift is over. There aren’t any windows or chronos and without those she can’t tell. She can’t even tell how long she’s been unconscious.

How many days has it been? It’s four days in hyperspace from the Maelstrom to Coruscant, she thinks. She doesn’t know anything more specific than that. Perhaps a week.

The thin thread of the training bond that connects her to Jaesa is out of her reach. Every time she tries to grab it, it slips through her fingers. Does her crew know that she’s still alive? Can Jaesa tell, blocked off from the force as she is? Or do they think that she died on the Maelstrom prison? If there’s some paltry chance that they know she’s alive, she likes to imagine that they’d try to save her.

There’s too much anxiety and pain grinding away at her to allow the relief of sleep. Instead, she stares at the wall and wonders what sky she’d see beyond it. Can her crew see the same stars? Where are they now - what happened to them after the battle? She assumes that Kilran would have withdrawn after they lost the prisoner, but there's no real guarantee.

Asking the Republic for information would be an exercise in futility. As if they would give her any substantial information. She's surprised the medic told her anything at all, although it makes more sense, medics aren't usually trained to deal with, well, _prisoners_. That's what she is now. A krething Republic prisoner. What a pathetic scene she makes.

How the hells is she going to get herself out of this mess? She's never considered capture, sincerely considered it. A much more common nightmare has always been dying at the hands of the Republic, shot down by troopers or murdered by some faceless Jedi, the flash of a lightsaber the only thing she sees before she wakes up in a cold sweat with a scream caught in her throat.

Capture is a whole different sort of terror, but at least she has vague notions of what will happen to her, some outline besides just a big gaping unknown. Interrogation is a given. Whatever enhanced methods the Republic are willing to use are also likely. What will happen to her then, a lifetime of imprisonment? Execution?

In her imagination, she pictures _Horizon_ breaking across the Coruscant skyline. It'll never happen. Even if her crew decides to attempt a rescue mission - and it's a big _if_ \- there's no way they could get to her here. Thutrel made a clever move in bringing her to the Republic Center rather than say, keeping her on a prison ship. She knows that since the Sacking of Coruscant, the planet's security had been increased drastically. To get through would take the entire Imperial fleet and that's an impossibility. She's well aware of her own relative insignificance.

"You are not sleeping," the droid beeps, "Sleep is conducive to proper repair."

She turns her head to glare at the droid. It's a round hovering thing, too similar in shape to interrogation droids to give her any peace of mind, "I'm organic," she tells it, "We don't... _repair_. The word... is heal."

"Sleep is conducive to proper healing," it parrots back.

If it isn't going to leave her alone she might as well get a decent conversation out of the thing. Better than just contemplating her bleak or nonexistent future. "What's... your name?"

"X1-H9," it tells her.

"Good to meet you... Exone," she says, "I have... protocol droid. Toovee."

It considers this for a moment before replying, "I have minor protocol functions in addition to my main programming as a medical assist droid."

"He's fussy..." she considers, "I doubt you'd... get along."

It's photoreceptor blinks, "You should be sleeping."

Back to this again, "Love to," she rasps, "Can't."

"Are you already sufficiently rested?" It asks, "Is there a function you would like me to perform?"

She gives in, "Can you... give me a painkiller... knock me out... something?"

"I can administer an anesthetic," it says.

That would be a relief, "Please."

It buzzes over, injects her with some things, and within moments she feels the fuzzy sweetness fill her body and block out the pain.

~*~

Vette flips through the stack of data cards absently. They've assembled in some conference room on Dromund Kaas, part of a collection of office complexes that connects to the prison where Celebris is being held. Theoretically, she's supposed to be going over the information in front of her - some creepily thorough portfolio of the Jedi's life that Quinn's dug up. It's duller than a trench on Balmorra. Lists of where she's been when, who saw her fly her pretty generic ship around some system a number of months ago.

"I’ve been ordered to wait until the plan is certain to succeed before contacting the Jedi Rineth,” Quinn tells them, “In the meanwhile, I'll contact Moff Hurden to inform him that the transfer will take place on Taris. As we don't yet have a concrete date, I'll propose the exchange take place at the end of our allotted month."

Vette spins a data chip between her fingers, "Why Taris?"

"It's located between Dromund Kaas and Coruscant," he explains, "And the regional governor, Moff Hurdenn, owes Lord Gimrizh a favor."

Pierce chuckles, "Yeah, and he's also got a Rodian mistress he doesn't want anyone knowing about."

"Blackmail is -" Quinn tries. He really tries. If Vette weren't worried out of her mind, she'd find his expression hilarious.

Pierce, obviously, isn't having any of that rule-abiding nonsense, "Do you want Lord Gimrizh back or not?"

"Fine," Quinn resentfully agrees, "Then you've just volunteered for the task of negotiating with Moff Hurdenn. Clearly it should be in your hands, lieutenant, if you're suddenly so concerned with Lord Gimrizh's wellbeing?"

Pierce puts a meaty hand down on the table. The data files rattle. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Next to her, Vette can see Jaesa shrink in on herself, hunching her shoulders in a way that screams ‘get me out of here’. Even though Vette’s not really one to talk, she wishes those two could just cool it for the one damn month while they get Gimrizh back. Then they can go back to trying to kill each other and Vette can sit back and laugh while Gimrizh plays the role of peacekeeper. “Pipe the fuck down,” Vette tells them instead, “Don’t we have more important things to do - like making sure that we _get Gimrizh back_?”

Neither of them say anything, but both clearly aren’t happy. Fine, okay. No one here is happy. She doesn’t care. _She’s_ not happy either.

Jaesa takes advantage of the silence to ask a question that must have been on her mind for a while now. She puts down the datapad that she’s been reading, “There’s something I’m confused about. I know that Celebris fell, but that’s not…” Vette can see her thinking through her words, “It only makes her confused and dangerous. How are we going to not only make her understand what she’s supposed to do, but also act on it?”

“Well,” Pierce asks casually, “what was it like when you fell?”

Oh dear. “That’s entirely different,” Jaesa quickly replies, avoiding eye contact with anyone at the table, “I had my master to help me.”

“Grand Moff Kilran is speaking to her,” Quinn says, “He’s attempting to take on a role similar to what Lord Gimrizh was for you - guide her, if you will.”

Vette can see Jaesa flinch as she says, “It’s not the same.”

Pierce shrugs, “Sounds pretty similar to me. Wasn’t there when you joined up, though. Could be wrong.”

“You are,” Jaesa quietly but firmly tells him, “There’s a _difference_.”

A spark of worry flickers in Vette’s chest. Jaesa doesn’t notice, she’s staring at the datapads in front of her, and of course she’s not using her power, she never uses it on the crew. But Vette’s watching Jaesa and she notices. Quinn’s giving her this look, not like he’s annoyed with anything that Jaesa’s said, but like he’s trying to figure something out. Like he suspects.

“I want you to speak with her,” Quinn orders - and _damn it_ , why does it sound like a krething test? - “Your shared circumstances would go a long way towards convincing her to cooperate. She’d also be more likely to listen to you as opposed to Grand Moff Kilran, given the history that they share.”

It _is_ a test. One Jaesa’s about to fail.

Jaesa stands up from the table, “I can’t. I’ll help however else I can - I want my master back as much as any of you - but I just _can’t_.”

With that said, she storms out of the room. Vette points at the both of them and stands as well, “I’ll be back. Don’t kill each other while I’m gone.”

She chases after Jaesa without a second thought, running down the hallway to catch up. Jaesa’s at the end of the hall, standing in front of one of those floor to ceiling viewports that Imperial architecture seems to be so fond up. There’s an onslaught of rain pounding against the building, running down the transparisteel in thick torrents. A flash of distant lightning casts a cold and unnaturally white light over Jaesa’s face for a moment.

Vette clears her throat, “It’s really storming out there, huh?”

“Don’t -” Jaesa turns around and she can see wetness glistening in the corners of her eyes, “I miss Gimrizh too, alright? She’s my _master_ , and I can almost… _almost_ sense her, just out of reach. It isn’t as though I’m not committed to this, because I _am_. I want her back too. I just… this isn’t _right_. Manipulating Celebris isn’t _right_.”

That’s not what Vette was going to say at all, actually, “You know… she’s not you.”

Jaesa freezes. “I never said that.”

“Didn’t need to.”

“We’re not the same.”

“Never said you were.”

The tears start to run, “She’s just confused and she’s lost everyone she loved and _of course_ she’s angry and hurt and that sort of pain would turn _anyone_ to the dark side and -“

“Hey, hey,” Vette rubs tight, soothing circles on Jaesa’s back, “Look at me.”

With a sniffle, Jaesa looks over to stare at Vette. She tugs at the hem of her sleeve and uses the fabric to rub at her eyes. It doesn’t help, it only moves the tears around more and makes her eyes red. Vette’s not going to say that though. Even though Jaesa’s usually stunningly immaculate, she gets all red faced and blotchy when she cries. Vette thinks she’s beautiful.

“You’re not her,” Vette tells her again.

“I almost was,” Jaesa admits, like she’s letting out a tiny piece of herself that she never wanted to acknowledge even existed. Vette gets the feeling. “You don’t know how easily I could have - when I learned that there was some Sith out there, hunting down me, my parents, Master Yonlach - I felt so much _anger_ that I thought it would consume me. If I hadn’t - If Master Gimrizh hadn’t -”

A connection forms in Vette’s brain. “You want Gimrizh back because you think that she’s stopping you from falling.”

Jaesa doesn’t say anything, but that’s an answer too.

“You don’t -” Vette pauses, thinks, and then says, “The only person stopping you from falling is you. You don’t _need_ someone around to keep you in check. You don’t always need to be this perfect person who acts like a perfect Sith and keeps all their emotions perfectly in check. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it as many times as you want me to - being Jaesa Willsaam _is_ perfect.”

There’s a long minute of silence and then Jaesa says quietly, “I still want my master back.”

“Course,” Vette agrees, “I want her back too. She’s my sis - uh, don’t tell her I called her that though. She gets touchy.”

“She’s my _master_ ,” Jaesa echoes, looking at the storm outside, “I want her back, but _this_ isn’t the way to go about doing it. It isn’t _right_.”

Vette wishes that she had such a clearly distinguished sense of morality. Maybe it’s the whole ‘life as a slave and then a pirate’ thing that she has going for her, but she’s always been more blurry on what’s right and wrong. She knows _people_ , what’s right and wrong when it comes to a personal, individual level. Jaesa’s not like that though, she can look at a galaxy full of billions - trillions, who even knows - of people and actually think ‘what’s right for _all_ of them’. She can look at the galaxy and imagine some inherent _justice_ there.

“Okay,” Vette says. She’s never thought of trying to pressure Jaesa into doing anything. “You don’t have to do it. Who gives a fuck what Quinn wants you to do?”

Jaesa looks at her like she doesn’t know what she’s seeing, “You don’t think I should try and convince Celebris?”

Vette shrugs, “I think it’s entirely up to you. At the end of the day, you have to make the choice that you can live with. It might not always be the _best_ choice or the one that _most_ people agree with. It just has to be the one that you’ll regret the least. The one that lets you sleep at night.”

“What they’re asking - I can’t do that to anyone,” Jaesa decides.

That’s fine - they’ll find some other way to get this plan to work. They’ll get Gimrizh back if Vette has to steal a ship and smuggle herself into Coruscant. “Then don’t.”

Jaesa presses a kiss to her cheek, “You’re so wise.”

“Nah,” Vette disagrees, letting her arm rest on Jaesa’s shoulders, “I’m just a smartass.”

~*~

“Thank you for your help, general,” Thutrel says before bowing to Garza and scurrying out of the office.

At least he knows they have no clue where Celebris is now. One more certainty in this mire of confusion. He hasn’t seen or heard anything from Gimrizh yet, but he’s trying to get her a fair trial. Grand Master Shan has already agreed to get the Supreme Chancellor on board, so that’s two people solidly on his side in this. Even though she’s Sith, she deserves the fairness and impartiality of a trial.

“Jedi Knight Rineth!” someone calls out.

Thutrel stops in the middle of the thankfully deserted hallway. The person approaching him is another Jedi, a human that he doesn’t know, “Good afternoon,” he greets, “How can I help you…?”

“I’m Quorian Dorjis,” the man says, “A moment of your time, please.”

~*~

Kolto pumps through her veins, her perception limited by the metal around her wrists that blocks her off from the force and whatever narcotics they’ve got her on. She knows she should be more lucid, more aware, and she also knows that they’ve been putting something in this stupid IV besides just kolto. They want her drugged out of her mind and she can’t use the force to burn it out of her system.

“You know,” Gimrizh says suggestively, wiggling her wrists, “the handcuffs are really sending a conflicting message.”

The agent leaning against the wall snorts. “Yeah. They’re not coming off. We’re not stupid.”

“Course you are, you’re SIS,” she retorts.

He rolls his eyes, “Charming.”

The second agent is sitting across the table in front of her, his hands laced together and a datapad and lightpen by his elbow. There’s a more amiable look on his face, even though he seems pretty scruffy looking. She’s pretty sure he’s playing the role of ‘good cop’ and that the one leaning on the wall like an idiot is the ‘bad cop’. “Please state your name for the records,” he asks her.

“What, you don’t already know everything about me? You SIS,” she shakes her head with fake disappointment, “so bad at your jobs.”

“It’s just for the records,” he says lightly, “Please state your name.”

There’s another burst of pain in her chest, only partially helped along by the fact that she’s still connected to a kolto drip, even though she’s handcuffed to the table. “Gimrizh Korribanil.”

The ‘good cop’ agent writes it down, “And your rank?”

“Sith Lord,” she tells him, trying to throw as much bravado into the words as she can.

“Age?”

“Three thousand and fifty-seven.”

“Age?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Where were you born?”

“Dunno.”

The ‘good cop’ agent pauses, then writes that down anyways. “What date did you assassinate General Karastace Gonn?”

She frowns, covering up a wince, “How the hells should I remember?”

“We’ll take that as a confession then.”

“Wait- what?” Gimrizh jerks upright - she’d been slouching protectively over her chest. Moving her head too quickly makes her vision blur and she has to take a moment to reorient herself. What does he mean by a confession?

The ‘bad cop’ agent sighs, “Okay Balkar, way to make her pay attention.”

She shrugs. In the end, what does it matter? So what if the Republic knows she killed Gonn? They probably know everyone she’s killed _ever_. “Yeah, so what if I killed him and his friends?” she says, her voice slurring slightly, “Give me my lightsabers back and I’ll show you just how many people I can kill.”

“Alright,” Balkar agrees, “Let’s discuss your lightsabers.”

He places a case on the table and cracks it open. Inside rests her two lightsabers, inactive, just waiting to fly into her hands and burst to life. It’s a struggle to stop herself from trying to grab them, even as she knows she can’t summon them with the force and her hands are pinned to the table a solid two feet away.

He points to the one she got from Quorian Dorjis and her hearts sink, “We’ve been informed that this weapon belonged to a Jedi. Where did you get it?”

“Found it,” she lies.

The ‘bad cop’ agent doesn’t buy that for a second, “Sure, you just happened to find a handcrafted weapon lying around somewhere. Jedi don’t tend to drop them.”

“Listen-” she pauses and looks him up and down, “I’m gonna call you ‘Red’ since I don’t know your actual name. Listen, Red, there’s a large number of Jedi running around and I’ve killed quite a few of them myself. Who’s to say I didn’t pluck it from Nomen Karr’s corpse?”

“Did it belong to Jaesa Willsaam?” Balkar asks her.

She hesitates. “No.”

He doesn’t let up, “Are you certain?”

“Why the hell do you want to know about Jaesa -?”

The door slides open and a familiar figure steps inside.

Gimrizh yanks on the handcuffs and glares at him, “ _Thutrel._ ”

Guilt paints his face a paler shade of green as the Jedi looks at her. Then he politely speaks to the two agents in a voice too quiet for her to hear - she could have heard him if she had access to the force. “Please?” he ends with, the only distinguishable word.

Red and Balkar grab the lightsaber case and the datapad and leave the room quietly. Sure, she hates SIS, but she’d rather be stuck with those two for a year than have to stand Thutrel’s presence for another paltry second. To her great aggravation, he takes Balkar’s seat across from her. Clearly, he’s not going anywhere soon.

“What the krething hells do you _want_?” she demands.

Thutrel clears his throat awkwardly. “I er - I have some information for you. I’ve spoken with both the Jedi Council and the Senate and given the unusual nature of your case, they’ve decided that you’re to be given a trial. The Supreme Chancellor will sit as judge and there will be a panel of both military officials and Jedi serving as a jury. I pushed to include Grand Master Satele Shan on the jury, as an effort to ensure you get the fairest judgement.”

She gapes at him, “Hold on - you think Satele krething Shan is going to be impartial? You’re insane.”

“Actually, I’m your legal representation,” he admits. “As a Jedi Knight, I can volunteer to serve as legal counsel for the defense on the rare occasion that the defendant is force sensitive. No one else would have volunteered, see, so it was me or nobody.”

“I think I’d have prefered nobody,” she says scathingly.

He holds up his hands, “Hear me out. I have a plan.”

She doesn’t stop glaring at him, “Those are four words that do not fill me with confidence.”

“I think that we can convince the jury to release you into Jedi custody,” Thutrel explains, “If you play along with what I say, then I can call in a few favors from the Jedi Council to let me help you.”

This is the strangest conversation she’s had all day, “Why do you think I want your help?”

“Everyone could use help occasionally,” he says, like he’s pitying her, “and you’re in rather a tight situation. If you’re in my custody, then I can make sure that you get the help you need to heal both your physical and spiritual injuries. And in return,” he takes a deep breath before speaking, “you’ll take me to Yaina.”

Alright. _Fine_. If that’s what he wants. She’ll take him to Yaina, “Deal.”

He sighs in relief, “You’re not lying. Thank you for trusting me. I promise I can make sure the Republic grants the Jedi jurisdiction over your case.”

“So what’s your plan for getting me off the hook with the Republic?” she asks, already regretting this whole thing. She’s pretty sure that she regrets ever picking up that damn holocall from Kilran. Has she ever not regretted waking up in the morning?

“I’ve spoken with Quorian Dorjis,” Thutrel starts and she almost has a heart attack, “We’ve come up with an angle. If we can convince the jury that you’ve been aiding the Republic this whole time then -”

“No!”

He blinks at her in confusion, “But it would get you released -”

“No,” she reiterates, her voice unwavering, “If you try to use that angle I swear I will kill you.”

“What else do we have?” Thutrel pleads.

There’s no way - she won’t - he doesn’t understand - “Come up with something else. Just let them throw whatever they want at me, I don’t care. Say I’m a poor pitiable Sith and spew all that garbage about how the dark side is an illness you’re trying to cure. Whatever. Bribe the jury, kidnap the Supreme Chancellor, anything. Don’t you dare try and paint me as a traitor to the Empire or my master.”

“I -” he stutters, “I suppose -”

“Good,” she says firmly, “Then this little conversation is over.”

Doesn’t he _get_ it? If they try and come up with some sob story about how she’s really been working for the Republic this whole time - It’ll get back to Baras. It always will. He’s got eyes and ears everywhere, she knows that better than anyone. She might be safe from him in some Republic jail, but if he thinks that she’s a traitor? That she’s betrayed _him_? It doesn’t matter if it’s a lie. He’d take out his revenge on the only people he can get his hands on.

Her crew.

She’ll never let that happen. If she goes to spend the rest of her life in a cell because of this then at least her crew will still be alive. She could live with that. If she got her crew killed, it would be unbearable.

~*~

Malavai watches through the security holo feed as Kilran speaks with Celebris. There’s a constant tapping as he drums his lightpen against the screen of a datapad, occasionally writing down a note. He’s recording the entire conversation so that he can catch anything he might miss the first time around. A earpiece feeds him the somewhat static-filled words from the cell block.

“-you killed Asara…” Celebris mutters weakly, slumped in a corner, barely lucid. It’s impressive she’s as coherent as she is, really. He’s seen the list of drugs they have her on.

“No,” Kilran informs her, “ _You_ killed Asara.”

She slowly shakes her head, “Didn’t… I wouldn’t have…”

“You did,” he repeats, “It’s understandable. Maybe not to the Jedi, but the Empire understands that there are sacrifices in war. Having the courage to acknowledge that is not weakness.”

“That’s…” she hesitates, “...the code says…”

Kilran doesn’t change his expression as he calmly says, “If the code really mattered to the Jedi Order, then why did Oteg kill your crew?”

She struggles under the weight of both the hallucinogens that are pumping through her and the constant gaslighting that Kilran’s putting her through. “He… no…”

“Come now,” Kilran replies, “You saw what happened. Oteg and that friend of yours, Thutrel -”

“Not-” she cuts him off, “not my… _friend._ ”

Progress, Malavai supposes. Last session, Celebris had become confused about when she first met Thutrel and what their relation was. They’d had to give up and let her rest for two days before Kilran had decided to try again. If she can recognize Thutrel as an enemy, that’s a solid start. Then they can move on to fueling her anger against the Republic as a whole. If she gives in to that aspect of the dark side, the mindless hatred, then they won’t need to program orders into her to get her to attack the Senate Tower - Kilran’s chosen target. The only downside is lack of control to the point where they might not be able to recall her for future use.

Malavai thinks that he has a better solution, but he’s still uncertain on a couple of key details.

“Of course he isn’t your friend,” Kilran keeps saying, “Remember who he got killed? You had a padawan that died, didn’t you?”

“Nadia…” Celebris whispers, as though the word hurts to say it.

“How old was Nadia?” he prompts, “How long had she been your apprentice before Thutrel killed her?”

Celebris goes silent. She does that sometimes, and then - “Shut up! Stop it - just stop it! You killed her - it was you- You’re trying to trick me - you’ve always tried to trick me - you’re a liar and it was you it was you- !”

Malavai tugs the earpiece out and loses interest. Once she starts shouting like that, it means they’ve lost her for the day. The feed keeps recording because he’s not going to let any detail slip through his fingers, but he’s certain that they won’t make any more progress this session. While he can see that Kilran’s decent at what he does, what they’re doing - this mix of emotional manipulation, gaslighting, and narcotics - it isn’t meant for a deadline of one month. If they had longer, perhaps.

As it is, he’s contemplating alternatives.

There’s a backup, in case the entire plan falls apart and Kilran withdraws his support, but Malavai’s hoping it won’t come to that. Regardless, if a prisoner exchange fails, he always has the option of enlisting Vette and her unusual choice of friends - the Republic privateers that she claims to be close to. That is still an absolute last resort, and he’s certainly not bringing it up to Vette before hand in case -

His pen pauses over the screen, an idea coming to mind. The option of suggesting it to Vette is considered and then discarded. She wouldn't be amenable to this particular plan and he’s already lost Jaesa. He can’t afford to cut off a second member of _Horizon_ ’s crew.

Reluctantly, he holos Pierce.

“What?” the lieutenant says once he answers the call.

Malavai gets straight to the point, he’s never in the mood to speak with Pierce, “I need a bomb, lieutenant. As small as possible, remotely detonated. Preferably something that you can link up to a tracking system.”

If Pierce looks surprised by the suggestion, well, neither of them are going to bring it up. He thinks it over for a minute before replying, “Sounds like a slave chip to me.”

He’s never heard of those, “I adapted the idea from electroshock collars, actually.”

Pierce shrugs, “They’re not that popular, really. Too expensive to mass produce. Cost more than most slaves, and collars are seen as just as good. With a military budget though? Doubt there’d be a problem. Could probably buy one and add a tracker to it. Not sure where’d you put it on her though.”

“Leave that to me,” Malavai says. If it’s small enough, they can knock her out and implant it. Along the spine maybe, somewhere where detonation would be fatal. If it’s small enough to be a surgical implant then the blast can’t be that powerful. It would have to be a targeted explosion, “Put in a request and come up with a design for the tracker.”

“I’ll get one myself. Know some men who can get it faster than Kilran’s people,” Pierce tells him, “Got in touch with Hurdenn, by the way. He’s on board. Does Baras know?”

“I can inform Lord Baras myself,” Malavai pauses before closing the call, “I shouldn’t need to remind you that this is confidential information -”

“I’m not going to tell Vette,” Pierce agrees, “You’re right, she wouldn’t like this idea.”

Malavai frowns, “I’m assuming you’re capable of keeping personal emotions separate from the task at hand?”

There’s a chuckle that rings a bit too cynical for actual humor, “Don’t care, to be honest. Not the worst thing I’ve done. Whatever it takes to get Lord Gimrizh back.”

The call ends and Malavai considers the possibility that perhaps he and Lieutenant Pierce have finally agreed upon something.

~*~

“My lord,” Captain Quinn says as soon as Baras answers the call. The holo flickers on his desk, a small portable version that he takes with him when he’s aboard his flagship. Baras has been wondering when the next report from his spy would come in, although he had not been anticipating a call.

“What is it?” he asks, “Has Kilran finished with my apprentice yet?”

Quinn shakes his head, “Unfortunately, Lord Gimrizh has fallen into Republic hands.”

Has she? What a shame, she was doing decent work for him. Still, he supposes he should thank the Republic for doing his job for him. She’d been getting a bit too powerful for his tastes and even though her loyalty has to be commended, he isn’t foolish enough to ignore the threat she poses to him. Eventually, perhaps sooner rather than later, he would have had to make a preemptive move against her.

“Pity,” Baras replies. He’s on Korriban anyways, he can always acquire a new apprentice, and he still has Draahg. “When I return to Dromund Kaas, I’ll give you your next assignment.”

“Actually, my lord,” Quinn says, “There’s no need. We’ve already begun to implement a plan to retrieve her.”

One of the things Baras hates is when his pieces make a move he didn’t dictate. “I did not sanction this,” he warns.

Quinn either doesn’t notice the thin ice he’s treading on or doesn’t care, a surprisingly oblivious move for one of his smarter pawns. “Grand Moff Kilran already gave his approval. He’s been planning this for over five weeks now, I merely called to update you, now that we’ve made tangible progress.”

Regrettably, as he’s yet to gain his master’s seat on the Dark Council and implement his grander plans, Kilran still outranks him. Quinn technically doesn’t need his approval if the Grand Moff is backing him. It still makes Baras grind his teeth in annoyance. He’d rather not waste the time or resources on a piece that he’s always considered disposable.

Oh well. If she returns to him, then he can deal with it. Send her on a few more missions, get some more use out of her before ultimately removing her as a threat. He’s thought for a while now that she’d be useful in his plans to take out Vengean. In the end, this changes little. She’ll either rejoin the Empire or she won’t.

He is however, very curious as to what she’ll do when held in Republic custody. He has a spy working in the Senate Tower. It’ll be easy to find her and keep an eye on her. For all his efforts, aspects of his apprentice still remain a mystery. He knows everything about her, her abilities, her record, confident in the fact that he has control over her, and yet when he looks at her he still feels as though he’s looking at a threat he cannot comprehend. If she takes a single step out of line, even if she does it in a Republic prison where he cannot get to her, he still knows where to hurt her.

“Then you may proceed, captain,” Baras grants, “Send me a full report when the operation concludes.”

“Of course,” Quinn bows sharply.

The holo cuts off as Baras tosses the metal disk into a corner of his office. He’s uncertain as to how or why, but he gets the feeling that he’s beginning to lose his footing.

~*~

Thutrel wishes Gimrizh could take this a bit more seriously. They have only a handful of days before her trial, and she’s still refusing to consider the option of presenting herself as pro-Republic. With Quorian Dorjis’s testimony and the statement that General Gisselle Organa has submitted, they’d have a solid and convincing case. As it is, he’s hoping that there are enough points in her favor to persuade a jury to release her into Jedi custody.

“And if you’re asked about the War Trust?” Thutrel prompts.

She’s leaning on her arms, her voice muffled, “I tell the prosecutor to suck it.”

“Say nothing,” he reminds her, “If they don’t have your verbal confession, then they have to prove every crime you’ve committed individually and we don’t even know what evidence they’ve prepared. Don’t make it easy for them.”

“I’m not an idiot,” she mutters.

“I’m not saying you are, but you need to be prepared.” He looks at her across the table. She’s slumped over, tired, bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep. They’ve taken her off kolto a week ago, but she still needs it. Without a full tank immersion and put only on a kolto drip, the kind of heart injury she suffered would take months to heal fully. Thutrel doesn’t know what the SIS were thinking when they had her taken out of a kolto tank early.

She slowly props her chin up on her hands, “What does it even _matter_? The Republic will sentence me however they want, it’s not like they’ll be persuaded not to throw me into some jail forever on a _whim_.”

“No,” he admits, “but you do have a defense against a life sentence. You could always plead cruel and unusual punishment.”

Her jaw falls open, “Why in the hells would I _ask_ for that?”

Perhaps something got lost in translation, “Er- no, I mean that you could argue that a life sentence would _be_ cruel and unusual punishment. If you say that Celebris was acting as an agent of the Republic when she stabbed you and her intent was your death, then you’ve in a way, already been given the death penalty and just happened to survive. A second life sentence would constitute cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Huh,” she thinks it over, “I didn’t know that the Republic had laws against such things.”

“It’s an important law with great historical significance,” Thutrel explains, “The Republic would carefully consider any plea you made if I use that defense.”

She laughs bitterly, “You have laws dictating what sort of punishment is illegal, but you still have a death penalty?”

“Regrettably, yes,” he says. It’s never been something he’s agreed with, “We are in a war. Often trials of war criminals end in either lifetime imprisonment, or if they’re deemed too dangerous, execution.”

“It’s as though the Republic can’t make up it’s mind about whether or not to be some angelic paradise. You’re all such hypocrites,” she comments, “The Empire, for all its corruption and nepotism, is at least honest about the sort of political system it is. The Sith don’t try and pretend that we stand on some moral high ground as the Jedi do.”

That’s not true. Even though there are problems within the Order, the Jedi never pretend to be anything that they’re not. There’s an honesty in the system that he doesn’t find in the Sith Order. Look at her. She’s so clearly not following the path of the dark side with the same zeal as some other Sith he’s encountered, and yet she’s still pretending. The Jedi and the Sith differ in many aspects, but the Jedi have always had wholeness of mind and spirit. The Sith revel in tearing themselves apart. He wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

The door slides open and one of the two SIS agents assigned to her case stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame, “Time’s up.”

“Thank you, agent,” Thutrel says, gathering his cloak from the back of his chair and stepping outside, “Gimrizh, you have three days before your trial. Please prepare beforehand.”

She doesn’t say anything as the door closes and he’s left feeling as though there’s something more that he should do, some last piece of information she needs, one more person he can ask for help. There’s nothing though. He doesn’t know what else he can do. Satele Shan is on his side in this, and so is Quorian Dorjis, but those are only two people and just one of them will sit on the jury.

“Why are you helping her?” the agent asks, “Doesn’t seem like she’s particularly grateful.”

Thutrel gives that question a moment of thought, because he feels as though a proper answer is in order, “I think she needs help. Part of being a Jedi is compassion. If I cannot have that for an enemy who needs it, then I have failed in my duties.”

“Right,” he says, clearly not fully believing what Thutrel’s said, “Forgot you Jedi do that whole compassion thing.”

That’s surprising, “You disapprove of the Order’s stance on compassion?”

“Nah, just never really seen it in action,” the agent shrugs, “Mostly I just see a lot of - well, a _lack_ of emotions.”

“That’s regrettable,” Thutrel agrees, “There are some problems within the Order, but I believe they can be fixed, given time and dedication. Much of the difficulty lies in convincing others of the necessity of change.”

The agent gives him an inquiring look, “Huh. You’re kind of a weird one, aren’t you?”

That statement gives Thutrel pause, “I’m uncertain as to whether or not that’s a compliment, agent…?”

“Theron Shan,” he extends a hand, “and it was.”

~*~

Jaesa closes her eyes, waves her hand over the security panel, and feels as the force halts the connections to every camera and sound recorder hidden in the cell block. She keeps the power flowing to the force field barriers though. Even after everything that’s happened, she’s still terrified of Celebris.

When she told Vette that she didn't want to speak with Celebris, it wasn’t a lie. She still doesn’t want to be here. She’ll never go along with this unjust plan that they’ve decided is the best method for getting her master back. She’ll never put her efforts towards convincing Celebris one way or the other. She won’t be like Kilran, manipulating and cold.

Even so, she still has to talk to the Barsen’thor.

Celebris looks like a wreck. Her red eyes are sunken, the veins on her neck darkened and clearly visible. Jaesa can see the remnants of a great beauty, full lips and striking hair, now beginning to rot away. A look that was once sharp and piercing turned to an angry, confused glare when Jaesa steps into view.

Three separate energy fields and a pair of force restraints stand between the two of them and her heart can’t stop pounding, half of her still convinced that Celebris will shake off the trappings of ruin and strike her like the unstoppable being she once was.

“Jaesa… Willsaam…” Celebris mutters, her words coming between thin breaths of air and a haze that has clouded her mind.

What have they been _doing_ to her? “I’m not here to hurt you,” Jaesa starts off with, “I swear.”

“Then why… _are_ you here?” she asks, an echo of authority still hanging on.

She doesn’t know.

When she says nothing, Celebris leans forward to demand, “ _Why?_ ”

“What was it like?” Jaesa asks at last, “When you fell?”

Celebris looks at her, really _looks_ for the first time. Not like their first encounter, all push and no give, her attacking and Jaesa running. It’s an acknowledgement. And it goes straight to the heart of Jaesa. Perhaps there’s still hope for her. “You’re not a Sith… are you?”

“Not really,” she says quietly, “I- I try to be.”

There’s a long drawn out stretch of silence until Celebris finally says, “It’s not… falling. It’s… _drowning_. As Jedi… we stand in the shallows. There’s control…. but only because we’re using such little water. And if you let the waves crash over you… drag you down… there’s water surrounding you… _power_ surrounding you. But no control. It’ll crush you. _Consume_ you.”

“The Sith say it frees you,” Jaesa presses.

Celebris’s red eyes narrow, “Look at me… am I free?”

Jaesa doesn’t have a good answer to that. Her master has never preached the Sith code to her, never acted as though it’s words had any truth to them or any lies either. In truth, she knows that her master isn’t free. Not really. “Did it feel that way?”

“For a while…” Celebris admits, “At first… there’s such power. And you think… ‘why didn’t I do this before?’ I could have saved… it’s a lie. The deeper down you go… the more power you have. The more power you need… every second of every minute… fighting against the weight of the force.”

Jaesa looks at her and remembers the moment of blind irrational anger when she saw her master waiting for her in Nomen Karr’s safe house on Hutta. That confusion and uncertainty brought on by her fury, stopped only by her master’s mercy. “What light, what clarity is there in the darkness at the bottom of the ocean?”

A thin smile twists its way onto her face, no joy or happiness behind it, just an expression that has forgotten its meaning. “What freedom… is there in constant struggle? What power is there… when you are so deep down you cannot see why you went there to begin with? The force without clarity… without control…”

“Entropy,” Jaesa whispers and understands.

“The force is _living_ , Jaesa Willsaam… don’t ever forget that.”

~*~

The cuffs on Gimrizh’s wrists feel heavier than they ever have as she’s escorted to a room below where her trial is about to take place. She’s prodded onto a circular platform with a single podium, her two guards, tall statuesque Jedi, take their place, one on each side. Their saberstaffs are held in their hands, not activated yet, but she knows they won’t hesitate if she tries anything. She can’t even see their faces, just plain ceramic masks that remove any identity.

One of them presses a button on the podium and they start to rise up. The ceiling above them slides out of the way as she ascends to meet her fate.

The roar of noise is the first thing she notices, some screaming profanities at her, jeering, booing, people who she knows will petition for her to spend the rest of her life behind the force field of a Republic prison. They hover in the center of a massive room, their pod attaching to a walkway that crosses the chasm. She’s between two stands, Thutrel standing in one, and an old woman in a general’s uniform standing in the other. Across from her is the stand where the Supreme Chancellor sits, behind him, the jury. She recognizes Satele Shan easily - and Thutrel thinks the woman will help them? It’s insanity.

This entire thing is insane.

Dorian Janarus - the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic oh _stars_ \- is the first to speak, “Gimrizh Korribanil, you are accused of seven separate counts of first degree murder, conspiring against the Republic, and war crimes, specifically the torture of Jaesa Willsaam, former Jedi padawan. How do you plead?”

This is insane - she’s going _insane_ -

“Not guilty,” she says, because that’s what she’s been told to say.

He gestures to the Republic general to her right, “General Garza, you may present your case.”

“Thank you, Chancellor,” the austere general begins, “I shall address the charges in the order you presented them. Firstly, the murder of General Karastace Gonn. Normally, this would be a much more speculative issue, but we’ve managed to procure footage from his safe house at the moment of the attack. If I may direct the court’s attention to the holo.”

Gimrizh glances over at Thutrel, who’s clutching the stand’s railing so tightly that there’s little to no green visible in his knuckles, just white. While she knew they’d try and get her for Gonn’s murder, she didn’t know they had any visual evidence. This wasn’t planned - and the worst part is she knows that she didn’t kill Gonn.

A massive blue holo lights up on the floor, projecting the image between them and the stand where the Chancellor sits.

She watches herself stand in front of Gonn, Quinn at back and the group of Republic soldiers and Chiss on the edges of the holo.

The holo version of her says condemningly, “ _No one can hide from me and my master_.”

The conversation plays out to the point where the fighting begins - she cuts down the Chiss while Quinn shoots the Republic. She turns to face Gonn and then the feed cuts out.

Why would they - Oh, of course. They aren’t showing the footage of Quinn killing Gonn because they want to implicate her in particular. The indirect lie only helps Garza’a case against her because to an outsider watching the tape, it’s obvious that she dealt the final blow. For all of Thutrel’s talk about the Republic being some inherently fair system, she can see that it’s the same as the Empire in some respects. Motivated by individuals with their own personal agendas. She wonders what Garza’s getting out of this.

“As you all can see,” Garza says, “although the recording is damaged, it is clear that Korribanil attacked General Gonn with the clear intent of ending his life. From an interview between Korribanil, and Agents Balkar and Shan, she said, I quote, ‘Yeah, so what if I killed him and his friends? Give me my lightsabers back and I’ll show you just how many people I can kill.’ And I quote Korribanil directly from the footage you just saw, ‘As it is, you are all traitors to the Empire and no amount of begging or pleading will convince me to spare a single one of you.’ The evidence speaks for itself.”

Yes, she _did_ say that, didn’t she?

Chancellor Janarus turns to her, “Korribanil, do you have anything to say regarding this evidence?”

“Chancellor,” Thutrel interjects, “If I may, the footage has clearly been edited - why else would it conveniently only show Gimrizh’s confrontation with the general, and not the actual murder? I ask that the holo be examined for any tampering, so that we can see exactly what happened to General Gonn, and not just the prosecutor’s speculation.”

“Very well,” Janarus allows.

No, they can’t do that. She still has a chance for herself, there are other accusations that she can argue, she won’t let Quinn be thrown under the speeder during this Republic farce, “I did it,” she declares, “I killed Gonn. As Garza said - it’s obvious. My master ordered Gonn’s execution and I delivered it, as he asked.”

There’s another burst of yelling from the spectator stands around them. She glances over to see Garza giving her the strangest look, probably wondering why the hells Gimrizh is actually helping her case. That Republic general wouldn’t understand. The look on Thutrel’s face is a mixture of confusion and worse - disappointment. Fine, she doesn’t care if he’s disappointed in her, her concerns are simple - stay alive and keep her crew safe. She’s not trying to win his approval, she doesn’t have to care.

“You plead guilty to the charge of murdering General Karastace Gonn, in the first degree, and the voluntary manslaughter of three unidentified Chiss?” Chancellor Janarus confirms.

Gimrizh nods, “Yes.”

“Then that’s settled,” Garza says, “I shall proceed to the next accusations, that Korribanil hunted down and assassinated Generals Faraire, Minst, Durant, and Frelka, all four of whom were members of the War Trust. Korribanil’s former words in her interview reveal her actions, that she killed both Gonn and his ‘friends’. Who else could she be referring to besides the other members of the War Trust? Furthermore, all four generals are now either missing or dead, disappearing within a one-week window on Taris. A Republic cruiser, _Stalwart_ , and three defenders reported Korribanil’s ship, _Horizon_ , approaching the planet shortly before Frelka’s disappearance.”

She presses a button on a datapad, displaying the medical file of a dead Rodian, “While Frelka is still technically considered missing after the factory he was in self-destructed, leaving behind dna evidence to place him there, but not enough to confirm him as dead, General Minst’s corpse _was_ recovered. As you all can see, the marks around his neck have been identified as lightsaber burns. Similar burns were found on the bodies of Durant and Faraire.”

“Speculation,” Thutrel protests. “Taris is a massive planet, Chancellor, Gimrizh could have been on the opposite side when the War Trust died. The facts don’t support General Garza’s claim.”

Garza puts her hands on her hips, “It would be a pretty outlandish coincidence, wouldn’t it?”

He pauses, “The force works in mysterious ways.”

“General Garza, Knight Rineth is correct,” Janarus agrees, “This is speculative. Please address the next charge.”

“Very well. The fifth charge of murder is against Jedi Knight Xerender. Please observe this communication from his ship, _Unbowed_ , as he attempted to make contact with the Republic base on Hoth,” Garza sends another file to the center holo and steps back.

A Republic officer that Gimrizh doesn’t know, some man with a lieutenant’s badge fills the picture. “ _Unbowed calling for emergency reinforcements from Aurek Base_ -” the image flickers and the audio is filled with static. The lieutenant falls to the side, leaning against something they can’t see, “ _I_ _mperial vessel - Fury interceptor, HMS Horizon, has hit us - repeat - we’ve been hit! We need back up we’re -”_

There’s another burst of static and the sounds of screaming for a second before the holo cuts out and she guesses that must have been when they finally took down the ship.

She should find some sort of pleasure in watching all her accomplishments for the Empire paraded in front of her. Certainly any other Sith would. After all, it just goes to show how much she’s given in service to the Empire and to the Sith. She tries to find some pride in it all, some satisfaction. Mostly, she just feels a bit ill.

“ _Unbowed_ was later found on Hoth’s surface,” Garza explains, “Or at least, what was left of the ship was recovered. There were no survivors. Twenty-eight crewmen, officers, and workers were on that ship when it was shot down. And Lieutenant Jinzen’s communication directly identifies Korribanil’s ship as the one attacking them. This woman is responsibly for those twenty-eight deaths. The real tragedy is that they weren’t even her targets - but people like her - _Sith_ \- don’t care who stands in the way. Lives are irrelevant to her.”

She has nothing to say in her defense. What _can_ she say?

It’s all true. That’s the worst part.

Garza pulls up holo after holo, all files of the people aboard _Unbowed_. All include names and pictures, as she reads them out one by one, “Ensign Yaxly, Ensign Rishlav, Engineer Waltt -”

“This is unnecessary,” Thutrel says, avoiding looking at the holo, “You’ve made your point, General Garza.”

Thankfully, she closes the holo again, “Good. Then I shall proceed to the next charge. Conspiring against the Republic. As you all are aware, I hardly even need to prove this one. Korribanil is Sith, an order known for their violent tendencies. She’s spent her life in service to the Empire, she’s already a known enemy of the Republic.”

“Please provide a specific case study, general,” Chancellor Janarus advises her.

“Very well,” Garza gestures the jury behind him, “Grand Master Satele Shan, did you or did you not encounter Korribanil a year ago, when she attacked the Republic ship, _Brentaal Star_?”

Satele Shan slowly nods, “I did. We spoke briefly, over the holo.”

And Thutrel thought having her on the jury is a good idea? She’s placed her future in the hands of the craziest Jedi she’s ever encountered.

“And what did you discuss?” Garza prompts.

“I advised her to stop her attack, and she refused,” Satele recounts, before granting, “She appeared reasonable and calm, willing to negotiate, even though we did not see eye to eye.”

Garza continues, apparently ignoring whatever Satele might have said in her defense, “And did Korribanil proceed to attack _Brentaal Star_?”

“She did,” Satele says flatly. Does she even _care_? What was Thutrel thinking when he said she’d be one of their defendants?

“Thank you, Grand Master,” Garza dismisses. She turns to address the rest of the jury and the surrounding crowd. This trial is more a show for her than it is Gimrizh’s future. “Korribanil worked with Grand Moff Rycus Kilran during the attack on _Brentaal Star_ , and again, just one month ago, in his attack on the Republic fleet.”

 _This_ , Gimrizh has a defense for, “Technically, the Republic attacked _us_ ,” she says viciously, “We only defended. It was _you_ and _your ships_ that attacked the station on Taral V with the intent to steal Imperial property and then attacked _again_ at the Maelstrom facility. Defending my faction when called to do so is not a crime. If it were, then _you_ , General Garza, would have just as much reason to stand here as I do.”

“Do you have such a witty excuse behind your assassination of Nomen Karr?” Garza snaps back with.

Gimrizh holds up a finger, as much as she can in her heavy cuffs, “Firstly, bravo to you for being brave enough to change the subject once you knew you couldn’t win, and secondly I did not kill Nomen Karr, for fucks sake, people.”

“And yet you said,” Garza replies, reading again from her datapad, “In your interview when referring to your lightsaber, and I quote ‘Who’s to say I didn’t pluck it from Nomen Karr’s corpse?’ If you didn’t kill him, then please, explain your statement. And if you would also be so kind as to explain why Nomen Karr has not been seen or heard from in months, not since you were seen approaching his safe house on Hutta with a squad of Imperial soldiers?”

Thutrel steps in again, “That’s a very open ended question. Gimrizh shouldn’t have to address something that vague -”

“Oh please,” Garza interrupts, rolling her eyes, “You just don’t want her to make another foolish confession and admit to murdering Nomen Karr.”

Gimrizh slams her cuffs against the podium rail, “I did _not_ kill Nomen Karr!”

“Then where is he?” Garza demands.

“How the hell should I know?” she replies, laughing at the sheer _insanity_ of it all, “I sent him off to my master months ago - I don’t know if he’s dead or alive or what!”

Garza pauses, “So Nomen Karr was delivered to Darth Baras then? At your behest, apparently. Thank you for that piece of information.”

Why does that matter - Nomen Karr is long gone.

“I shall move on to the next charge,” Garza continues, “The torture of Jaesa Willsaam, designed to ensure that the padawan was manipulated into joining the Empire against her own free will, particularly so that she would, as the Jedi refer to it, ‘fall to the dark side’, a form of force corruption that some Jedi masters have referred to as ‘a horror beyond describing’. Did you hunt down Jaesa Willsaam with the intent of forcing her to join the Empire?”

And therein lies the problem. Deny it, and Baras finds out Jaesa never fell to begin with. Either he forces Jaesa to fall himself, or he kills her. Gimrizh won’t let either happen.

“Guilty as charged,” she forces herself to brag, “I played her like a drum and it worked.”

“Chancellor!” Thutrel asks, “A moment to speak with Gimrizh, please?”

Janarus nods, “Granted.”

The speakers on Thutrel and Gimrizh’s podiums deactivate and he comes rushing over to her side. Both Jedi guards step back as he approaches so as not to listen in.

“What are you doing?” he whispers, “You’re letting Garza rip you apart, you can’t just admit to the court these things -”

She ignores him, “You wouldn't understand. Just shut up and play that stupid ‘cruel and unusual punishment’ card that you think will work.”

He gapes, “You aren’t giving me much to work with-”

“Do you want to ever see your cousin again, or not?” Gimrizh hisses under her breath, her last resort with him.

That finally gives him pause and he gives in. “Fine. I hope you know what you’re doing.” He heads back to his own podium on the bridge before turning his speaker back on, “Chancellor Janarus, thank you for your time, we’re ready to proceed.”

“Very well,” Janarus nods to Garza, “Continue.”

Garza rests her hands behind her back and starts again, “The charges were seven counts of murder, one confessed to, one proven beyond a shadow of doubt, one in which she was an accomplice. Frankly, the murders of the four War Trust general’s are suspicious enough even without a confession. She’s also just confessed to three charges of voluntary manslaughter, _and_ has been proven as directly responsible for the deaths of _Unbowed_ ’s crew. Conspiring against the Republic is again, obvious, and you just confessed to a war crime. Do you have anything to say in your defense?”

Yes.

Everything she’s done, every single charge they’ve brought before her she’s guilty of. And if any one of the people standing before her had been in her position, they would have done the same. One day maybe, she can make her own choices, but for the entirety of her life she’s done nothing but follow orders because she doesn’t have any other option besides death. Yes, she killed all those people because that is what Baras ordered her to do. That is what he wanted her to do. Her own feelings on the matter have no space here.

She can’t afford to let herself feel guilt and regret because first and foremost she has to keep herself and her crew alive. Nothing else matters in the end. What the Republic thinks of her has to be irrelevant. Garza can stand on that soap box and preach about morals and crime all she wants and they both know what if Garza were caught by the Empire she’d be on trial for the same or worse.

But she doesn’t say any of that. The Republic wouldn’t care and Baras would hate the implications of it.

So she just shakes her head, “No.”

“Then I rest my case,” Garza declares triumphantly.

Thutrel clears his throat, “I have something to say before the jury makes its decision. When Celebris attacked Gimrizh, she meant to kill her. Had Gimrizh not, by chance, been Zabrak and possessed of a second heart, the strike would have ended her life. For all intents and purposes, Gimrizh has already paid her dues. To sentence her to life imprisonment would constitute cruel and unusual punishment. I would instead recommend releasing her into Jedi custody. The Jedi Order is the best place to contain a force sensitive criminal and also to ensure that she gets the mental treatment that she needs.”

“And I ask that the jury consider the facts,” Garza retorts, “This woman is not someone who needs help - she’s a mass murderer with no conscience. Chancellor Janarus, we are at war. The Republic must be strong in these dark times and we cannot do that when we bow to every request made, grant mercy to those who do not deserve it and would not give it in return.”

“Does anyone else have anything they’d like to say?” Chancellor Janarus asks. When there’s just silence, he concludes, “Then I ask the jury to consider the verdict. We shall resume when they have made a decision.”

The stand behind him empties as the members of the jury file out to a separate room.

Increasingly loud chatter echoes around the room from the spectator stands as Thutrel approaches her.

“Grand Master Shan should be able to convince the jury in your favor,” he says quietly, “They don’t need to make a unanimous decision, just a simple majority. She still holds a lot of favor in the senate.”

“So it was you who put her on the jury,” Garza remarks, striding over to join them. There’s a confidence hovering in the corners of her eyes, almost certain that she’s won, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Knight Rineth. I’d been hoping to see the so called Hero of Tython in person.”

Thutrel bows, “You’ve done great work for the Republic, General.”

“Thank you,” she moves on, “As I was saying, I’m surprised you put the Grand Master on the jury. Had you not, she could have claimed Jedi jurisdiction over this entire case and directly taken control. Now that she’s on the jury however, she can’t. Was that part of your plan or did you not think this through?”

For a second Gimrizh considers the possibility that Thutrel’s setting her up on purpose and then dismisses it. Even though she despises him, she knows that he’s motivated by his desire to see Yaina again and she’s the only person he thinks can help. He wouldn’t sacrifice that. Not for what, petty revenge against a Sith he’s always been so disgustingly adamant about helping? He might be stupid, but he isn’t malicious.

Thutrel reels back, “I didn’t - could she have?”

“Of course,” Garza tells him. She’s not quite smug, but there’s a definite air of superiority around her, “I also thought you might like to know that the chances of imprisonment are low. The only prison we currently have that can contain a force user like Korribanil is rather out of the question.”

“Why?” he asks.

Garza crosses her arms across her chest - she thinks she’s won, “The Supreme Chancellor wouldn’t imprison Korribanil in the same containment center as Darth Ekkage - her master Baras’s sister.”

“What does that _mean_?” Gimrizh snaps.

Garza nods her head towards the stands, “You’re about to find out.”

The jury is returning. That was worryingly fast.

Thutrel gives her a pat on the shoulder that she thinks is supposed to be reassuring before he returns to his podium. A hush falls over the crowd as a single member of the jury stands up.

It’s some old man in the ornate robes of a senator. Not someone Gimrizh recognizes, “In a four to five vote, we’ve come to the decision that Gimrizh Korribanil is guilty of all charges put before her. And in light of the unique circumstances surrounding the available facility capable of containing force users, we would press the Supreme Chancellor to sentence the defendant to death.”

Everything stops.

“Even though I was outvoted,” Satele Shan is saying, “I would still like to request to the Chancellor that Korribanil be released into Jedi custody.”

She can’t breathe.

Chancellor Janarus puts his hand down on the podium to silence the crowd, “My apologies, Grand Master, but I have to agree with General Garza. I accept the jury’s recommendation. Gimrizh Korribanil, you have been found guilty and are to be given the death penalty. If anyone has anything else they would like to say, please speak now.”

Oh stars oh please no please - She can’t, she can’t die, she _can’t_. This can’t be it, this can’t be how she goes out. She tugs at the cuffs on her wrists, trying to rip them off, shred them, she can’t breathe, she’s hyperventilating, she has to _get out_ she can’t let them do this to her -

In the stands, Quorian Dorjis rises, “Chancellor! I would like to say something!”

She’s flatlining. His words are a shot of adrenaline.

Just let him speak his piece about how she’s secretly been working for the Republic, how she saved his life, how she helped Gisselle Organa, whatever the hell else Quorian’s come up with. Let him talk. Let him paint her as a traitor the Empire. Let him tell the jury how she’s betrayed Baras. Let him save her. It would be so easy to just let him do nothing and save her life and she _can’t_.

Pierce. Vette. Jaesa. _Quinn_.

Like trying to move through water, she slowly turns to face Quorian and shakes her head.

He stares at her with wide eyes, not comprehending why.

 _Don’t,_ she thinks,  _You still owe me a favor and this is it. All I shall ask of you is your silence_. _Please give me this one small thing_.

“Jedi Knight Dorjis,” Chancellor Janarus addresses, “Is there something you wish to say?”

Quorian falters, still looking straight at her, before he finally says, “This - this isn’t the Jedi way, Chancellor.”

“This is a Republic courtroom,” Garza replies, “and a Republic trial. The Jedi are a welcome part of the Republic, but they cannot hold themselves above our laws.”

Chancellor Janarus nods in agreement, “The general is correct. This case is now closed. Dismissed.”

The crowds scream their approval as Gimrizh’s stand descends. She can’t hear them. She can’t hear anything. She can’t move or breathe or blink.

She’s going to die.

It’s worth it. _They’re_ worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright - tune in next time folks!  
> A note about the Republic legal system: It's pretty obviously Americanised with a couple of differences that I tried to point out in the text. A system like thier representative democracy would probably have a similar justice system to ours, with the differences of juries not needing a unanimous vote and death penalties being much more common pretty clear results of the constant cold war/open war enviroment they're in.  
> A note about time: Galactic standard is five days to a week, seven weeks (35 days) to a month  
> As always - feel free to comment! I love comments! I LIVE for comments! Also, I'm on tumblr @semper-draca hmu


	16. There is No Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo! The end of the Maelstrom Prison Arc!  
> As always, big shoutout to FallenAscendant  
> This chapter, aka: Vette is woke af, Thutrel pulls a Mace Windu, and Gimrizh is very not good at emotions

Baras reviews the holo his spy in the Republic senate has sent him.

Pity. This shall only make it more annoying to recover her.

His apprentice has such promise. If they manage to actually reclaim her, then perhaps she’ll be all the stronger for it. He knows she hates the Republic, it’s evident in every second of the trial. If she lives through this, he can use the humiliation they put her through to fan the flames of her rage against the Republic.

He replays the one clip from the trial that’s stuck in his mind.

“ _Chancellor! I would like to say something!_ ” An unfamiliar and remarkably unimportant Jedi says, before finishing, “ _This- this isn’t the Jedi way, Chancellor_.”

There’s panic in his apprentice’s face as the Jedi first steps forward and Baras can’t figure out why. He stares at the fraction of a second clip loop through again before giving up and turning the holo off. Either way, she’s more than proven her loyalty to him. Shame that she’s quickly outliving her usefulness.

~*~

The deceivingly small chip flips through Foris’s fingers before he places it on the table, “Got enough power to blow a hole in her brain, if that’s where you want to put it. Didn’t mess with a tracker. Figured you’d already rigged something up.” He pulls the controller from his pocket and sets that down next to the chip, “Press that button and the chip detonates.”

Quinn snatches up the chip and places it in an electronic imager. Starts running scans of it, as though Foris would bring back a faulty one. “Where did you acquire this?”

Friend of Tanido who happened to be working for one of the Hutts as an arms trader. Can always count on the Hutts to have the most expensive tech. “Doesn’t matter, does it. It works. It’ll get Lord Gimrizh back. Are we good to go? Do you have the tracker ready?”

“It’s ready to add to the chip,” the captain says, “It’s regrettably short range. Once she’s out of the same system as the signal receiver, she’ll be undetectable.”

“Right, well, I’m off,” Foris would much rather be working out his frustration at the shooting range, “Holo me when we’re ready to proceed.”

“You are not dismissed, lieutenant,” Quinn orders, “I specified that you were to keep this information to yourself. You were well aware that Vette and Jaesa in particular were likely to disapprove.”

Hold the fuck up. Foris didn’t tell _anyone_. He barely even told Tanido, and he needed the man’s help in the first place. The only people who know the whole thing are him, Quinn, and obviously Kilran. If the captain is implying that there was some kind of leak, then it sure as hell wasn’t on Foris’s end.

“I didn’t say a damn thing,” he states, balling his hands into fists, “Despite what you think, I’m not an idiot. I’ve run more covert ops than you _ever_ will. I know how to keep my mouth shut.”

Quinn frowns and pulls up a holo image. It’s Jaesa, walking towards the cell complex that’s empty with the notable exception of Celebris. She waves her hand like Foris has seen the boss do a dozen times and the holo cuts out. Did Jaesa just blow all the cameras in the cell block? The kid should know better by now.

“Then why did Jaesa go to speak with the prisoner?” Quinn asks.

“Don’t know,” Foris replies. It is a bit suspicious, particularly after she’d been so vocally against even the first incarnation of their plan. “Did you ask her?”

Quinn looks very annoyed and doesn’t say anything.

“Yeah,” Foris snorts. Course the captain never considered the most obvious option. “Thought so. I’ll go talk to her. See if she meant any harm. Could have an effect on the plan.”

“Regrettably, we are running out of time,” Quinn says, turning his attention back to the chip, “I shall proceed regardless of Jaesa’s interference. Kilran has decided that we cannot contact Thutrel Rineth until the chip is implanted and functioning, and there are only two days left before our deadline. I assume that Jaesa would not have done anything that would prevent us from retrieving Lord Gimrizh.”

True. Jaesa does seem to be pretty attached to her master. Vette’s doing this because she thinks Gimrizh is like a second sister or something, and Foris thinks that she’s a good commander and decent sort of person who does good work for the Empire. He wonders why the captain’s doing this. Sure, Foris has his own suspicions about the captain and Lord Gimrizh’s relationship. But he’s also pretty sure that the captain’s hiding something. It’s a puzzle that he’s dying to crack.

“I’ll find out,” he says.

He doesn’t bother to salute as he makes his way out of the offices above the prison complex to the training room that Jaesa’s been holed up in.

The girl could probably use a break, in his opinion. She’s been whacking dummies with a training staff for weeks now. Really ripping herself apart while the boss is gone. Or _because_ the boss is gone. Of course, when he thinks break, his thoughts are more along the line of ‘push her out into the streets with Vette’ and less ‘break into the prison to have an unrecorded conversation with the krething Barsen’thor’.

Nothing’s ever easy, is it?

When he arrives, he doesn't bother to knock and just pushes the door open.

As he guessed, Jaesa's circling a training dummy in the middle of the floor, beads of sweat rolling down from her forehead. She lowers her staff and greets him, "Lieutenant Pierce. Can I help with something?"

"Just here for information," he tells her, "What were you speaking to the Barsen'thor about?"

She glances away from him and clutches her staff to her chest, "I'm sorry. I know I should have gone through the proper channels but I had to talk to her. I just - I just wanted to know if you were right. If we were the same."

"What did you find?" he asks, genuinely curious.

"Nothing," Jaesa replies and she's so quick about it that he almost thinks she's lying, "She's not - I follow the orders of Master Gimrizh. She listens to nothing but her own madness."

The reiteration of her loyalty to Lord Gimrizh is reassuring. "And you couldn't have done that with the cameras on?"

Jaesa shrugs noncommittally, "I already said I wouldn't help. I assumed that the captain would attempt to stop me if he knew."

Well, she's probably not wrong. Quinn, in his quest to micromanage the shit out of this entire mission, has taken almost complete control over the project. Foris bets that the only reason he's letting Kilran call the shots is because of the enormous difference in rank. "Probably right about that," he agrees.

She looks a bit nervous as she asks, "I'm not in trouble, am I?"

"Doubt it. Go through the proper channels next time you want to pull a stunt like that," he cautions, "Doing it like you did - it looks bad. Did no harm this time around, but if Kilran had found out instead of me and Quinn? Could have been a lot worse."

"I understand," she assures him, "I know I should have asked, it's just..."

The girl's been working herself to the bone, getting her head all mixed up because of what's happened to her master. Foris gets it. Doesn't excuse her mistake, but it explains it. "Stop moping over it," he tells her, "Do you think the boss would want you to break down over this?"

"No, of course not," Jaesa replies, "I just thought that if I trained harder, next time I could be stronger, do more for her."

"You could do with more training," he says firmly - it's true, she could, so could everyone else though, "I'm always down for a good fight if you need one."

She seems surprised by the offer, “Thank you, Lieutenant. I think I shall take you up on that sometime.”

“In the meantime, try not to get yourself into any trouble you can’t get out of,” he reminds her, “And stop pushing yourself harder than you can take. You’re no good to us if you break. Take a day off. Run around with Vette. Get laid.”

Jaesa turns a very bright red and sputters, “That’s - I - “

Foris bursts out laughing. Yeah, there’s no way that she’s up to anything. In the end, Jaesa is as she seems, dedicated to her master and an open book to read. Foris’ll keep an eye on her in the same way he keeps an eye on everyone, but he’s not outwardly suspicious of her like he is towards Quinn. She’s just a kid.

~*~

"Here to _gloat_?" Gimrizh asks bitterly as Thutrel steps up to her cell barrier, "Come to see the nasty little Sith get what she deserves? No, maybe you're here to pry Yaina's location from my lips so that you can let them kill me in peace, having got everything you wanted from me. Hate to break it to you, but you’re wasting your time."

Thutrel's distress is written all over his face. She knows that's not why he's here but she doesn't care. Anguish suits him. "I am so sorry - I thought Grand Master Shan could do more -"

"Save your breath." She has no patience for his empty apologies, "You have _failed_ , Thutrel. Whatever you want to say is a useless attempt to assuage your own guilt."

"It didn't have to be this way!" he blurts out, "I tried, I really did!"

She wishes she could hit him, "Clearly not."

"If you would have only listened to my advice and let me and Quorian plead your case!” he continues, “I tried as hard as I could to get you acquitted, but claiming that you’re a spy for the Republic would have _worked_! Instead you - I don’t know _what_ you did - you confessed to things that we could have proved you innocent for! Torturing Jaesa Willsaam? They didn’t have any solid proof and you just -”

Gimrizh leaps to her feet, “No, _you_ listen. Do you have any idea what would have happened to Jaesa Willsaam if I told a court of law that she’d never been tortured into falling?”

“She could return to her life as a Jedi-” Thutrel starts.

“Darth Baras would execute her for treason before she could even chart a course to Coruscant,” she hisses her words at him, hoping that they hurt, “He would know about what I said two minutes after I said it and be out for her blood in less than three. She would _die_ \- slowly and painfully because Baras does not tolerate treason.”

Thutrel’s eyes widen, “No, we could… we could have sent someone…”

“Who?” she asks, “Who do you have in the Empire, who’s poised to smuggle Jaesa Willsaam out of Dromund Kaas right under Baras’ nose?”

He doesn’t say anything because there’s _nothing_ to say.

Gimrizh knew it. “Exactly. Because if you did have anyone like that, you wouldn’t be begging me for news of Yaina.”

“We could have kept _you_ safe from your master!” Thutrel protests, “On Coruscant -”

“Baras - he has spies everywhere - I _know_ he does, I hunted down some of them myself. One of his men was probably at my trial, recording the entire thing for him to watch,” she’s spitting poison at him, wishing there wasn’t a barrier between the two of them so that she could hit him in his stupid face, “Don’t you _get_ it? It doesn’t matter if _I’m_ safe. He’d punish me in the only other way he has - the way he _knows_ would hurt me the most. He’d _kill my crew_.”

He sags, finally starting to get a clue, “I… I am sorry. I didn’t...”

Whatever. He can keep his apologies. “Dying for them is bearable. Living to see them killed because of my mistakes is not.”

“That’s not true,” he says quietly, “In the courtroom, you were terrified. You still are.”

She turns her back on him, “Obviously.”

“What’s there to be scared of?” he asks, like he genuinely doesn’t get it, “You’ve fought valiantly and now your struggle is over. There are better ends, certainly, but at least this is an end. You can rest knowing that you did what you had to do for the people you cared about. You can find peace in that.”

“That,” she says firmly, “is _rubbish_.”

She is still _not_ looking at him, but she can hear the confused tilt of his head as he presses, “I don’t understand - what is there to be scared of?”

“I don't know,” she snaps.

“You have to know!” he insists, “Please, let me help you - Why are you so scared?!”

_You will learn to become Sith_ , she thinks, _if you do not become Sith you will become a slave_.

Be a Sith.

Be Baras’ apprentice.

Follow orders.

You will keep your head down, and do what you’re told, and then you will fight for the Empire, and someday have enough power to be wealthy, but there will still be someone giving you orders and you don’t have to make decisions, there will always be someone telling you what to do and how to do it and who to kill -

She turns and screams at him, “Because I _don’t know_!”

“Oh,” Thutrel whispers, “Gimrizh… when you die, you rejoin the living force. There is no death, there is only the force.”

“What does that _mean_?!” she demands, “We don’t know! No one knows! Anyone who _does_ know what happens is _dead_ and they can’t say anything at all anymore!”

Thutrel looks at her like her words hurt him, “I thought - the Sith leave behind ghosts sometimes, don’t they?”

After all her experience with the Dark Temple and growing up surrounded by tombs? Of course she knows that, “Korriban - it’s full of ghosts and they’re all _insane_! They can’t _do_ anything but possess and kill and - That’s not dying! They don’t die! They lock part of themselves up in an artifact and then when they die, that part is still there and the bit that talks after they’re gone _has never died_ _and doesn’t know_! You’re just saying all that bullshit to make yourselves feel better about the fact that you don’t know _what_ happens when you die!”

He flounders for a minute, “Sometimes… sometimes people come back. Not just Sith, not just those that bind themselves to objects while they still live, not just echos. An actual person. If they reject the force, they can return.”

That can’t be true because when she died she _hated_ the force and she never would have joined it and yet _Yaina still hasn’t come back_ . She just _left_. If it was possible - to reject the force - to come _back_ , to really come back, then Yaina would have, right? She hated the force, she turned her back on it, and surely - can’t Yaina see how much Gimrizh _needs_ her? Wouldn’t Yaina have come back if only so that Gimrizh can get down on her knees and apologize till her throat is raw?

Where did she _go_?

“So optimistic,” she mutters bitterly, “I wish I could have your belief. But I don’t. I will walk to my death terrified out of my mind and I have to - I have to accept that.”

“You would face that for your crew?” he asks.

“You’re a Jedi,” she sneers, trying not to cry, “All your emotional rejection - I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Thutrel stares at her for a good long while, letting her words wash over him. Then he places his fist over his heart and sweeps into a low bow, “I must admit that when I first met you, I pitied you, Gimrizh Korribanil. I shall not make the mistake of insulting you so grievously again.”

“Get out,” she whispers.

He leaves.

She curls up into a ball, tucking her knees to her chest and burying her head in her arms. Knowing that the camera’s can’t see her face anymore, she finally lets the tears stinging her eyes fall.

Hating Thutrel is easy. It’s so easy to hate him for letting her be sentenced to death, for promising to help her and then failing to follow through, for his constant prodding at the wound in her chest labeled ‘Yaina’. He makes it easy, pulling up every weakness that festers inside of her and refusing to let it go. It’s easy to hate him when she looks at him and all she can see is Yaina’s tattoos and Yaina’s grin and the shine of Yaina’s eyes.

She hates him and she doesn’t ever want to stop hating him. She never wanted his respect. All she ever wanted from him was for him to hate her as much as she hates him and even now, even after seeing everything she’s done, every act of cruelty she’s committed, he still refuses and she hates him for it.

Hatred has always been easy. Anger is easy. Rage is easy.

Everything else is _hard_. It’s _weakness_. It _hurts_. Forgiveness, for anything he’s done, anything she’s done, is _impossible_.

Acceptance is a knife running across her skin, lacerating her, even as she tries with every fibre of her being to accept the fact that she’s going to die.

She doesn’t want to die. She’s not ready. She might never be ready.

She never got to tell Quinn - no. She’s going to die. If she finishes that thought, death shall hurt all the more for admitting it.

~*~

Celebris wakes up confused and disoriented. That’s been the norm these past few weeks - months - she doesn’t know how long she’s been here. Her neck hurts between pulses of a numbing and cloy anesthetic. That’s _not_ usual.

There’s an officer standing in front of her cell, someone she doesn’t know and hasn’t seen before - she’s used to Kilran and the occasional medic. She peers at his rank badge - a captain. “What did…?” she puts a hand to her neck and tries to feel out where the pain is. There’s no mark, no bump in her skin that her fingers can sense but she _knows_ something’s there.

“There’s a chip implanted at the base of your skull,” the captain informs her, “It has two functions. Firstly, a tracker. Wherever you are in the galaxy, we will be able to find you. Running is not only pointless, it will result in the second function being implemented. An explosive. If we choose to detonate the chip, your death is guaranteed.”

That’s not - that can’t be possible. Her eyes go wide and she claws at her neck with stiff fingers, “You… you can’t...”

“Grand Moff Kilran has assured me that the chip will be unnecessary,” he continues, “He seems to believe that you are capable of following orders. I do not care. If you take a single step out of line, if you disobey a single order, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

What is her life worth? “What orders?” she asks.

“You will be put on a ship to Taris,” he tells her, “Once there, Grand Moff Kilran and myself will be negotiating a hostage exchange. The Republic will return you to Coruscant. The last time Grand Moff Kilran attacked Coruscant, he burned the Jedi Temple to the ground. This time, he’s decided that the Senate Tower has gone unscathed for too long. That will be your target.”

They think that she will attack the Senate Tower? That’s a fool’s gamble, once she’s safe she will-

What will she do? She’s not safe with the Republic, not after what they did to her crew. Not after what Oteg did to her. Not after what _Thutrel_ did. No where is safe. She’s not even a Jedi anymore, she knows that she’s too far gone. The Jedi Order would execute her - it’s what she would do. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I kill you here and now,” he states.

“Ah.”

“But I don’t think that you will,” he continues, “I’m not going to pretend that you see eye to eye with the Empire, or that you are a true Sith. As far as I am concerned, you will always be a danger to the Empire. That chip isn’t coming out. You have a choice. You want Thutrel Rineth dead for what he’s done to you. Grand Moff Kilran is your best chance of killing him. Those are your options. Work with the Empire, even if it’s just to fuel your own desire for revenge. Or I activate the chip. I’m certain that you’ll realize the truth - working with Grand Moff Kilran is the best route to ensuring justice.”

Thutrel. Thutrel, who got her crew killed, who stuck his neck out where it didn’t belong, who always talked about how much he wanted his cousin back and then had the audacity to tell her to let go of her grief, who stopped her from saving Felix’s life and Nadia’s and Zenith’s and -

She sees red.

“I’ll kill Thutrel,” she hisses, “Let me kill him.”

The captain smirks, “That’s what I thought. I’ll tell the Grand Moff that you’ve decided to cooperate.”

Her thirst for revenge should bother her. It doesn’t. She should be scared that she’s lost all control but she isn’t. There _is_ no control. She’s fallen too far for there to be any hope of control left. Control, this far down? It’s an impossibility.

~*~

“You tried, master,” Kira says. It’s clear that she doesn’t particularly care either way and Thutrel can’t blame her. She’s never gotten along well with Sith and she doesn’t know Gimrizh like he does.

They’re on a balcony in the Senate Tower, Thutrel trying to think of plans. So far, the stupidest thing he can come up with is grabbing Quorian Dorjis and staging a breakout. It would _never_ work and it would just end up with Gimrizh dead, Quorian sent back to Tython on another forced medical retreat, and Thutrel would lose the power he holds in the Senate and in the Order and then he really would have no way to help Gimrizh.

“I don’t understand,” he admits, “I know that this is her end and yet the force says otherwise. I look at her and I do not see someone who shall die in a week. Whatever the force may have in store for her, I do not believe this is it.”

“Look, I don’t see it. But if you do…” Kira sighs, “You’re going to do your own thing, as always.”

Thutrel always appreciates his padawan’s bluntness. She’s going to be a knight one day soon, he just _knows_ it. Once the war’s over, once his task force is ready to take on the Emperor and they restore peace to the galaxy, he’ll take her to Tython and watch her complete every trial they throw at her. It’s a day he’s looking forward to, a light at the end of the darkness. The hardest part will be convincing the Council to ignore all the little transgressions against the code that she makes.

His holo buzzes.

“Duty calls, master,” Kira reminds him, “Can’t spend all your time moping around.”

Thutrel frowns, “I don’t know. I have a bad feeling about this.”

She teasingly reaches for the holo, “Then I’ll talk to Grand Master Shan for you.”

“Oh no,” he yanks the holo out of her reach. He knows better by now. The holo buzzes again and he quickly takes the call before whoever’s calling gets too impatient.

It isn’t Satele Shan. It’s not even a Jedi. Hells, it’s not even a member of the Republic.

“Thutrel Rineth,” Captain Quinn says stiffly, “I’m calling to negotiate Lord Gimrizh’s release.”

Thutrel stops gaping, “That’s great news! I - Let me get Master Shan and General Garza. They’re in charge of her case,” he hesitates, “Um, please hold for a minute.”

“Make it quick,” the captain snaps.

Thutrel puts the call on hold. Why did he have a bad feeling about this? This is wonderful news! There’s nothing he can do for Gimrizh himself, but if there’s an official petition for her release from the Empire, then surely they have something to offer in exchange? At least he’ll be able to get Garza to listen to the request this time.

“Master,” Kira asks, a tad too calm, “Why is an imp calling your _personal_ holo?”

“He works for Gimrizh - I gave him my number on Alderaan -” Thutrel holds up a finger, “I’ve got to go.”

“Don’t do anything crazy!” she yells at his back as he runs inside the Senate Tower.

Crazy? This isn’t crazy, this is the will of the krething force. Thutrel skids past a startled looking senatorial aid and almost knocks a stack of datapads out of her arms. He manages to shout an apology over his shoulder as he bolts towards Garza’s office.

“The general is in a meeting-” a woman tries to tell him.

Thutrel bangs the door open anyways. Five people suddenly turn to look at him. Garza closes the holo projector that she’s been displaying and gives him an exasperated look. “This had better be important,” she warns him.

“It is,” he promises, “Please, general. A moment of your time.”

She raises an eyebrow at him, “This has to do with that Sith, doesn’t it?” She sighs and waves her hand at the rest of the people in the room, “Dismissed. Not you, Agent Shan, you’re technically on this case too. For that matter,” she presses a button on her commlink and speaks into it, “Get the Grand Master in here. She’ll want to hear this. ”

The others quickly file out of the room, leaving the three of them alone.

“Damn it,” Theron Shan grabs a chair and sits down, apparently deciding that he might as well get comfortable. “I was at her trial, didn’t this case end already?”

Thutrel just plugs his holo into the main projector and opens the channel.

“General Elin Garza, I presume?” Quinn asks coldly, “I’m Captain Malavai Quinn, I serve under Lord Gimrizh. I’m here to negotiate the terms of her release.”

Garza crosses her arms and stares him down, “Good to meet you, captain. Unfortunately, Korribanil has already been put on trial and sentenced to death. Republic law isn’t something that we’re fond of bending. It seems as though you’re a few days too late.”

The captain doesn’t so much as blink, “Lord Gimrizh is still alive, is she not?”

“For the time being,” Garza tells him, “She’s scheduled for execution in two days time. If you’ve got an offer, I suggest you talk a bit more quickly.”

What’s the captain’s play? Garza’s right, they’ve already had a trial. If they want to get Garza on board, there’s going to have to be a pretty big incentive for the Republic.

“Our offer is simple, general,” the captain explains, “Lord Gimrizh in exchange for the Barsen’thor.”

“You have Celebris?!” Thutrel presses. His friend isn’t lost after all! And from the sound of it, they haven’t managed to get anything of value from her. If they had, there’s no way in hells that they would give her up. He’d been so worried for her, but if she’s resisted to the point where the Empire admits that they no longer have any use for her, then she must have managed to pull herself back from the dark side.

Garza cuts off anything else Thutrel’s about to say, “Why the hell would you trade the Barsen’thor for a single Sith Lord?”

“You’re as aware as I am that Lord Gimrizh is hardly _just_ a Sith Lord,” the captain replies, offended by the insinuation, “She single handedly took out the War Trust, and has made considerable strides for the Empire. While she might not have the same renown that the Barsen’thor does, I assure you that the exchange is more equal than you might think.”

At the other end of the office, Satele Shan steps in. She glances over the room and the holo before keeping to the back, out of range of the holo’s sensors.

“And if we agree?” Garza tentatively proposes.

“Then I send coordinates to a location on Taris,” the captain informs them, “Bring Lord Gimrizh there and we’ll make the trade.”

Garza and the Grand Master glance at each other through the holo. Slowly, Satele Shan nods her head in agreement and Thutrel can’t stop his grin. They’re going to get his friend back _and_ save Gimrizh.

“Very well,” Garza agrees, “we’ll be there.”

The captain presses a button on a datapad and within seconds Thutrel’s holo beeps a confirmation - the file containing the location’s been sent. “Glad to hear it,” he says, “Oh, and I shouldn’t need to warn you that if you try anything, we won’t hesitate to kill the Barsen’thor and retrieve Lord Gimrizh by other means. This exchange is already in your favor, general. Don’t ruin it.”

“I’ll make you the same promise,” Garza assures him, “Korribanil is already sentenced to death. We don’t care what happens to her.”

Quinn glares at her before saying, “I’ll see you on Taris.”

The call drops.

“You won’t regret this!” Thutrel swears, “General, Grand Master, I will do whatever I can to ensure that we get Celebris back safely.”

Satele Shan frowns at the holo projector, “It seems too easy.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Theron interjects, apparently out of spite. “The Barsen’thor is one of ours and she’s done a good job fighting for the Republic. What’s one Sith Lord in exchange? Besides, we don’t have any use for Korribanil, as that little trial of yours the other day made apparently obvious.”

Thutrel beams at him, “ _Thank_ you!”

“The only reason I am agreeing to this,” Garza says sternly, “is because the Barsen’thor can single handedly win a battle and we need that sort of firepower back in our arsenal. I will allow this on one condition, that when the Barsen’thor is returned to the Republic, and has gone through all the necessary medical tests to ensure that she is at peak health, she will return to her post on the front lines.”

Satele sighs, “I cannot make that promise. She has a seat on the Jedi Council, it will be her decision whether or not to return to the battlefield.”

“This is not negotiable,” Garza insists, “She’s done good work during this damn war. I’ll speak to her when she returns.”

“It’ll be her decision then,” Satele eventually allows.

Thutrel holds up his holo, “I have the location, as well as a date and time. I’m sending it to the three of you right now.”

“Good,” Garza grabs her datapad and looks over the information, “Oh, and Rineth? Don’t say anything to Korribanil. I know you’re soft on her, but I can’t allow it this time.”

“What?” Surely, she can’t mean that. What harm would telling Gimrizh do?

Garza doesn’t even look at him as she explains, “The Grand Master is right, this _is_ too easy. For all we know, this is just the signal for some greater trap. This operation has too great a risk and I am not changing a single damn variable until the Barsen’thor is back in Republic hands and we’re out of Taris space, am I understood?”

“Fine,” Thutrel agrees, “as long as you go through with the prisoner exchange, I’ll do anything.”

“Good. Rineth, Agent Shan, get out of here and get busy. Grand Master, you’re with me,” Garza orders, pointing at the door.

The two of them traipse out to leave Garza and the Grand Master alone to talk logistics.

Once the door shuts behind them and they head on out into the larger hall, past Garza’s secretary, it’s just the two of them loitering in front of the office complex.

“Um, Agent Shan…?” Thutrel starts to ask.

Theron interrupts him with an annoyed look, “Don’t. I know what you’re going to ask. You’re right, but don’t.”

Yeah, Thutrel’s lost him. “I was going to ask why you supported the mission but… Is there something you want to tell me?”

“Oh,” Theron’s face lights up with relieved surprise, “Suppose I jumped the blaster there. Um… good question, though. It just seems like a good deal. Wouldn’t trust an imp with anything, usually. This guy seemed sincere enough. Not sure why he wanted to get Korribanil back so badly, but the sentiment was there.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Thutrel agrees. He thought poorly of the agent at first, “I admit, I thought you agreed out of spite. My deepest apologies, Agent Shan.”

Theron blinks, confused and somewhat taken aback, “Well. You’re not completely wrong about that. And please, call me Theron. Anything but ‘Agent Shan’.”

“As long as you call me Thutrel,” he replies with a smile.

“Sure thing, Thutrel,” Theron pauses. His face pulls into a thoughtful frown, “Hey, you’re not dating Korribanil or something, are you?”

A sudden coughing fit overcomes him, “What? Of course not?”

Theron shrugs, “Sorry. Had to ask, you know. You wouldn’t be the first to get a bit too close to an enemy. Certainly wouldn’t be the first Jedi to break the code.”

Something about the way he refers to the code makes Thutrel think. Slowly, his mind connects the dots until it all makes a weird sort of sense. Actually, he’s surprised he didn’t pick up on it before. There’s a remarkable amount of resemblance, although Theron’s skin is darker. “Oh. You’re - that’s what you thought I was asking - Um -”

“Yup.”

“I uh - didn’t know.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t know.”

“Still - sorry.”

~*~

The _Emperor’s Glory_ sits above Kaas City like a storm cloud. _Three hours_ , Malavai reminds himself. Three hours till they board a shuttle and dock with the ship. Three hours and thirty minutes till the _Harrower_ -class dreadnaught makes the jump to hyperspace. Four days and ten hours till they reach Taris. From Coruscant to Taris, it’s three days and nine hours, which means Lord Gimrizh is still planetside. Still waiting.

“Hey, grumpy face,” Vette says, coming to join him on the balcony. There’s a transparisteel awning above their heads that’s keeping the rainwater off, creating an ambiance pattern of the drops hitting glass.

He doesn’t have the patience to handle her particular brand of irritation right now. “I am not in the mood to deal with -”

“Tea?” she cuts him off, holding out a mug. He’s almost suspicious until he notices that her other hand is wrapped tightly around a bar of chocolate. “Seems like a year ago, doesn’t it?”

In a way, it does. He accepts the mug, the warmth a welcome change from the cold, “It was one month and eight days ago. But, yes, I suppose I understand the sentiment.”

“Oh, and this,” she hands him a second bar of chocolate, “is for Gimrizh. When you see her.”

He places the bar in his medkit, “I’ll pass it along.”

She breaks off a square of chocolate and nibbles on it, “By the way, there’s a message on _Horizon_ for you. From some Moff named Broysc? I didn’t listen, I promise, even though that was a _lot_ of temptation for me to resist.”

“I’ll deal with it,” he says quickly, before Vette can get even the slightest inkling that there’s anything wrong. Broysc has forever been a thorn in his side and he _does not_ have time to entertain the man’s insanity while Lord Gimrizh is still stuck in a Republic prison on krething Coruscant.

Vette grins, “Bit touchy about him, huh?”

No, he is _not_ telling her a single piece of information regarding Druckenwell. “Why does Lord Gimrizh bother keeping you around, when you are so clearly incapable of tact?”

“Why does she keep you around, when you’re a speciesist asshole?” she snaps back.

If he weren’t so exhausted and worn thin by the past month’s events, he might have a good reply to that. As it is, he actually considers the question. He’s never considered himself either strongly for or against the Empire’s policy on alien species, although he’s never really disagreed with Imperial law. It’s not been an aspect of government that he’s had much cause to consider before working for Lord Gimrizh.

In truth, he thinks that she’s internalized all of the negative rhetoric towards her own species over the years to the point where, whatever his stance on the subject is, she wouldn’t hold it against him. It isn’t as though she doesn’t notice the discrimination, he knows she does, he just thinks that she doesn’t consciously see anything wrong with it.

“Look,” Vette sighs after the long drawn out silence, “Could we… maybe not get at each other’s throats for a bit?”

That’s a level of maturity he hasn’t expected from her, “Given that you’ve apparently disliked me since the day we met, I’d say that’s being undeservedly optimistic.”

She huffs, “ _You_ disliked _me_ from the moment we met. Yeah, I thought you were a stuffy, rude as fuck pick. _Of course_ I did. You took one look at me, thought ‘dumb Twi’lek slave’ and never even considered that your first impression of me could have been wrong. And you - before you showed up, it was just me and Gimrizh. Two so called ‘sub-species’ running around the galaxy. Then you asked to join and she just - she just _let_ you. It felt like she was giving all that racist Imperial bullshit a stamp of approval.”

It does make sense. He hasn’t thought about what it must have been like for her. To an extent, she’s right. It’s easy to fall into the habit of seeing her as a rude and unappreciative person. It’s painful to admit, but she has been trying to amiable, in her own way, with perhaps more sincerity than him.

“I disliked you,” he slowly explains, “because you were disrespectful to Lord Gimrizh. I know now that she doesn’t care. But there you were, a slave, mouthing off to me, an officer, and seemingly insulting the Sith who owned you. You couldn’t be bothered to either learn or understand the system that I’ve dedicated my life to. You still don’t - your rudeness to Grand Moff Kilran, who worked to design the ship we travel in, who decided to help us get Lord Gimrizh back despite the risks. Your outward derision of Darth Baras, even though he, through Lord Gimrizh, paid for your sister’s freedom.”

Vette’s face suddenly turns hard, “Don’t you _dare_ bring Tivva into this. She’s not a part of this.”

“No,” he insists, “she _is_. You live your life ignoring and insulting the people who enable you to run around the galaxy, the people who bought you those blasters and that commlink. The whole reason you’re _here_ , in this spacescraper in Kaas City, is because of the people that you go out of your way to ridicule. Because of the Empire.”

She gestures to the city spread out before them, “You think I care about this? I don’t…” she trails off and presses the edge of the chocolate bar to her lips thoughtfully, “I get it. You think that I’m ungrateful for what the Empire has so _graciously_ provided me with. That’s not what it’s about. Darth Baras doesn’t give Gimrizh money so that she can give me a sweet blaster upgrade, he gives her money to pretend she has free will. If she gives that to me instead of using it for herself, that’s her choice. _She’s_ giving me the money cause she wants to. If she’s not here, Baras doesn’t pay me shit. I’m grateful to _her_. Kilran might have designed _Horizon_ , but I wouldn’t be flying in it if he were the one to pick the crew.”

“Why the hell,” she continues, “would I be grateful to someone like Baras? Gimrizh is grateful to _me_ too. Baras doesn’t give a damn about me. He doesn’t - Gimrizh freed me. She freed my sister. _That_ matters. I’m not on my knees thanking the Empire? Maybe that has a little less to do with my supposed ‘rudeness’ and more to do with the fact that the Empire threw me and my family in chains and sold us off to the highest bidder and that they do it _all the krething time_. How many families does the Empire break up because they sell the children? How many slaves do you think worked building Kaas City? And if I’m not - I don’t - you think I’d be _grateful_ to the Empire?” she laughs, “You want me to respect a system that’s never - oh, it’s not even that they don’t respect me, it’s that they don’t even treat me with basic sentient decency.”

“Lord Gimrizh is a part of that same system,” he reminds her, trying not to let her see any effect her words might have on him, “You can’t pick and choose which parts of it to condemn and which parts to praise as if you, a former _pirate_ , have some higher level of morality that you can hold the Empire to.”

She thinks on that and decides, “Yeah, actually, I can. If no one ever criticizes the Empire and points out that sometimes it majorly fucks up, then how the hell will it ever improve?”

That’s one point he can’t argue, “It’s not that idea that I take issue with, it’s the manner you’re going about it.”

“I don’t care,” she says with a nonchalant shrug, “Like I said, why would I show the Empire or anyone who works for it a single ounce of respect until they decide to earn it? Gimrizh has earned it. I’m still holding out judgement on Pierce. You sure as fuck haven’t.”

The fact that she didn’t include Jaesa in that statement nags him. Is it because that Vette so obviously cares for Jaesa, or because Jaesa’s not part of the Empire? Malavai’s still uncertain as to where exactly Jaesa falls between the Republic and the Empire and he’s certainly got no concrete proof yet. “Has it ever occurred to you that it might be the other way around? That your lack of respect would just perpetuate itself?”

“Nah,” she dismisses, “I don’t owe the Empire shit. If anything, they owe me.”

That’s a ludicrous statement, “The Empire isn’t obligated to repay you for anything.”

“They owe me years of my life, my _sister’s_ life, my _mother’s_ life,” she retorts, “They owe me for ripping me away from the life I was making for myself on Nar Shaddaa and throwing me in a jail cell on Korriban and putting a collar back around my neck.”

“You were attempting to steal Sith relics, as I heard it,” he points out.

She throws her hands up in exasperation, “Stop trying to excuse what the Empire’s done!”

“It isn’t about _excusing_ anything,” he says, “You keep trying to make the issue clear cut when you were in the wrong as well. You are ignoring all the good that the Empire has wrought because you disagree with a few of its policies.”

“It _is_ clear cut!” she replies, “The Empire’s ‘policies’, as you put it, are a mess of speciesist bullshit that’s ruining lives and the least you could do is show a bit of krething remorse.”

“You want me to what-” he snaps, “Apologize?”

She crosses her arms, “Yes.”

A shuttle docks in the _Emperor’s Glory_ above their heads. He doesn’t know why he’s still here talking to Vette and listening to her insidious nonsense when there’s still work to be done and Lord Gimrizh is still being held by the Republic. Vette can preach about her idealistic naiviety all she wants once their lord is safe. Stars knows Lord Gimrizh is more inclined to listen to all this than he is.

“I don’t have time to deal with this,” he says, heading back inside, “Thank you for the tea.”

“Thank _you_ for listening,” Vette calls after him, and he honestly can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or not.

~*~

Gimrizh isn’t sure how long she’s been on this damn ship for.

A few days, maybe, but she’s been awake the whole time and days have sort of started to blend together. Her cell obviously doesn’t have any windows.

When they’d pulled her from her prison on Coruscant she’d thought they were leading her to her death. That she’d be pushed to her knees and some Jedi would stand in front of her, glowing blue lightsaber ready to fall upon her neck. Instead, they’d dragged her to a ship. She felt the ship enter hyperspace what must have been days ago and just now she felt the telltale pull as they drop down to sublight speed.

“Where are we?” she asks the two Republic troopers who come to her cell, “Where are you taking me?”

The containment field drops and they grab her by the arms. One keeps a blaster trailed on her head while the other hauls her to her feet. “Shut it,” he says at her, his voice muffled by the helmet.

They push her down the halls of the ship.

“Why wait?” Gimrizh asks them bitterly, “I’m dead already, why are you people _bothering_ to drag me off world at all? What, can my execution not happen on Coruscant?”

One of them shoves the tip of his blaster into her back, “Just keep moving.”

As they make their way towards the main exit, she notices a number of other armed guards keeping an eye on her, blasters gravitating towards her as she passes. Why aren’t they just shooting her? What are they keeping her alive for? Do they want her death to be public? If that’s the case, why did they take her off Coruscant? Couldn’t they have just killed her on the damn Republic world instead of drawing out her fear for some sadistic reason?

She tries to pull her arms out of the grip of the trooper, “Just - where are we _going_?”

They stop in front of a large door. “Nowhere that concerns you,” one says, punching a code into the door’s control panel.

Light blinds her as the gangplank folds down in front of them. She tries to get her bearing as she’s led into the middle of a Republic base. Ruined spacescrapers and thick clusters of overgrown vines make a crater that the Republic is holding out in. Soldiers stare at her with barely concealed hatred in their eyes as she’s pushed past. Even though the light pounds painfully into her skull, it’s not that bright out, maybe midday and cloudy at that. One sun in the sky, the dull light of two moons currently visible sitting low on the skyline.

She’s on Taris.

They drag her to the front of a Republic caravan train, a series of lower transports decked out with heavy duty assault cannons and a handful of walkers that are crouched low to the ground for loading. She’s pushed and prodded to the base of a walker ramp.

Both troopers salute as a Rattataki woman disembarks the walker. She’s taller than Gimrizh by quite a bit, as muscular as a wampa, and decked from head to toe in durasteel armour. A hulking blaster cannon is strapped to her back.

“Sith, huh?” she sniffs dismissively, “Right. Get your ass in here, and no tricks. Got no problems with shooting you dead here and now.”

To make her point, she draws a smaller sidearm and gestures with it.

Gimrizh reluctantly steps inside the main interior of the walker, a metal room that just seems to be another iteration of the same cell she was stuck in on the ship. The Rattataki pushes her down onto one of the benches fixed to the wall. She grabs Gimrizh’s cuffed wrists and binds her to a locking mechanism on the seat.

“Prisoner secure,” she says into a commlink, “Move out.”

The walker hatch closes up and it lurches forward.

With nothing else to occupy her but speculation regarding her imminent death, Gimrizh surveys the people in the walker with her. There’s the threatening Rattataki woman holding onto a bar on the ceiling, who’s proactively put herself between Gimrizh and the door. Two other soldiers are in the transport. One’s a mean looking Cathar with a sniper rifle who sits across from her and glares like she’s personally murdered his best friend or something. The third is the most unassuming, a blond woman with just a small sidearm.

“Only three soldiers?” Gimrizh quips, “I feel underestimated.”

The Cathar snorts, “Three of us is overkill.”

“Oh?” she tries to get a snarky grin on her lips but her face feels too stiff to move, “That confident, are we?”

“You’re one Sith who can’t use the force. Yeah, we’re pretty fucking confident,” he replies.

She wraps her fingers around the edges of her cuffs, trying to feel out the locking mechanism that’s keeping her pinned down. It’s not really a conscious effort, she knows that by now there’s no way out. Her body hasn’t seemed to quite figure that out yet though. “Do I get some names, oh confident ones?”

“We’re Havoc Squad,” the Rattataki snaps at her.

Huh. That’s a surprise. Why are they bringing in Havoc Squad if they’re just going to kill her anyways? A flare of hope sparks in her chest before she slams down on it and squashes it. She’s not going to let herself have hope. She knows she’s a dead woman walking.

She turns to the third soldier, the human woman, “And you? You’re awfully quiet.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” she says in a shockingly Dromund Kaas accent.

Gimrizh’s jaw falls open, “Traitor!”

The woman tries not to flinch but Gimrizh can see the recoil in her eyes, the intake of breath, the tightening of her lips as she struggles not to show any effect the word has on her.

The Rattataki steps forward and puts her hand on her blaster, leaping predictably to the defense of her teammate, “Why don’t you keep your mouth shut, _Sith?_ ”

Gimrizh shuts up.

Wherever they’re going, they must want her alive for at least the first portion of the journey. Otherwise she gets the feeling that the Rattataki would have shot her in the head for that comment. Public execution. It must be. For some reason, it must be that either they want her to die on Taris, or the person they want to kill her is here. Her money’s on the former. Maybe they’re trying for some sort of poetic justice, killing her on the same planet where she killed their oh-so precious War Trust.

She takes steady, purposeful breaths. Coming to terms with her own rapidly approaching death is impossible, whatever she might have told Thutrel. She pulls the faces of her crew to mind and reminds herself that she’s doing this to make sure that they live. It’s a trade well worth it. What is her life worth, in the end? If she can barter her life for the four people she cares the most about, then at least she’ll have done something worthwhile before the end.

For some reason, she finds her gaze drawn to the ex-Imperial woman. “You’re a medic, aren’t you?” she asks before she realizes what she’s saying.

“Yes,” she replies stiffly, “why do you ask?”

Gimrizh points to the pouch on the woman’s waist, or manages as best she can with her hands pinned down, “That’s not an ammo box, that’s a medkit,” she says, “Larger than a basic first aid kit. And there,” she moves her finger to point at the belt slung across the woman’s chest, a number of pouches on the side, “Those have got, what? Kolto patches, some antibiotics, strong painkillers? Not grenades.”

The woman stares at her, “What makes you think I _don’t_ have grenades here?”

“I know someone with a similar setup,” she says absently, “He’s a loyal Imperial though. Probably would hate being compared to a traitor.”

“What did I tell you,” the Rattataki says again, “about keeping your mouth shut?”

Gimrizh opens her hands in a gesture of peace, “I’m merely trying to pass the time. Surely that’s the least condemning of my crimes?”

“Don’t push it, Sith,” the Cathar tells her, shifting in his seat as though he’s itching to reach for his blaster, “You’ve killed a lot of good soldiers in your short life. We’ve been given full permission to kill you if we need to and I wouldn’t be upset if there was an accident. Lay off Dorne, or else you don’t leave this walker.”

That’s painfully clear. She closes her mouth and leans back against the wall.

The walker jerks from side to side, taking her closer to what can only be her death. She never thought she’d die on Taris, of all planets. If she had to choose, she’d like to die on Alderaan.

The Cathar stands up and shows a holo map to the Rattataki, too quick for Gimrizh to get a proper look at and try to see their location, “Sir,” he says quietly, “We’re in position. Vik and Yuun have brought the secondary squads around.”

“Right,” she speaks into her comm, “Let’s get this gig started, folks.”

The walker slides to a halt.

They snap into action like a well oiled machine. The Cathar unchains her from the bench and trails his sidearm on her, one hand on his blaster and the other tightly gripping her arm. Dorne - the human woman - takes up the rear while the Rattataki lowers the walker’s ramp and takes the lead.

She’s led out into a concrete field, mostly open space with little cover. The Republic caravans have formed a loose semi-circle around the space, the soldiers, for some reason, keeping their blasters lowered.

Her breath catches in her throat. Across the clearing is a second contingent of transports, _Imperial_ transports.

The Empire’s here.

A group of Imperial soldiers leads a prisoner forward and Gimrizh sees Celebris, head bowed and hands cuffed together. She can’t help the twinge of fear that rises up at the sight of the woman. When last she saw her, it had been through a haze of pain and blue light as a lightsaber burned its way through her right heart. Seeing that woman in chains makes vicious satisfaction well up inside of Gimrizh’s chest, dulling the pain that still lingers from her injury.

The Rattataki woman steps to the side, letting Gimrizh see a second group of Imperials disembark one of the transports.

Her hearts stop.

It’s Quinn. He’s here. He’s actually here.

She thought no one was coming for her. It was fine, knowing that they wouldn’t come and she would die for them because that’s _fair_. It’s not an equal exchange for them to risk their lives for her, it’s just not even, and she’d been _fine_ with that. That’s a deal that she can find peace with because she didn’t - she didn’t know that she matters to them. That she matters to _him_.

The Rattataki lets her go. She hands Gimrizh the metal case that contains her lightsabers and stands back, “Don’t try anything,” she adds, a last warning, “We’ve still got you in our sights.”

Why would Gimrizh try anything? The thought is inconceivable.

She stumbles across the clearing, passing Celebris mid way.

It’s an exchange. They gave up the Barsen’thor for _her_. It couldn’t have been - Quinn must have convinced Kilran to give up the Jedi Master and oh _stars_ why would her captain just abandon a powerful and valuable piece like the Barsen’thor for _her_? She’s not worth it, why would he think that she’s worth it?

And then she’s standing amongst Imperials, making her way to the one person she never thought she’d be able to see again.

“You came back for me,” she whispers, almost unable to believe it.

“My lord,” Quinn says sincerely, “I would never have abandoned you. I can only regret that it took me so long to assure your safety. Please forgive me for the delay.”

She lets the case fall through her fingers. She thought she was going to die. She thought she’d never see him again. And so she’d been able to push her feelings down and bury them in anger and fear and guilt. Because if she’s going to die, then she doesn’t have a future, doesn’t have any reason to hope.

“I thought I was going to die,” she tries to explain, the words slipping out without care.

“That’s not going to happen,” he promises, “You’re safe now, my lord.”

Tears sting the corners of her eyes and she can’t tell why they’re there. All her stress and fear and panic that’s been writhing away inside her melts away and she can’t - she didn’t think he’d come for her. There’s no excuse she can use anymore, nothing that she can use to build up an emotional wall. She’s been lying to herself for so long and now there’s nothing.

Everything gets torn down and behind it all is just the simple truth of things.

She loves him.

~*~

“Welcome back, Master Celebris,” a Rattataki soldier says as they return to the ship. “Always proud to get one of our own back from the Empire.”

Celebris just nods and keeps moving towards the gangplank.

_Keep your head down_ , she repeats to herself. Her internal thought train sounds like Kilran, his voice whispering the commands in her ear, an echo of his hand pressing down on her shoulder, reminding her of her orders. _Say nothing. Do not attract suspicion_. _Do nothing until you reach the Senate Tower._

The soldiers that escorted her to the Republic base leave as soon as she’s in the hands of the ship’s crew.

Behind her, the gangplank is raised up and the ship’s engines start to roar. She’ll be off world shortly and then - then she goes to Coruscant.

The captain, a burly Togruta, leads her to the bridge, “Master Celebris, it’s good to have you safe. Welcome aboard _Intrepid_ , it’s our pleasure to escort you back to Coruscant. We’ll be departing the Tarisian system within a few hours.”

She nods again.

“Is there anything you require?” he asks tentatively.

She shakes her head, biting down on her lip to keep her silence.

He salutes her and lets her remain on the bridge as they speed up the sublight engines and take off.

Now that she has access to the force, she’s pushing herself to keep her presence in the energy field a low and steady constant. If the Republic has any Jedi on board, they’d be able to sense the rot of the dark side in her. She’s stretching herself thin, nearly faint from pushing away the dark side. The tantalising power hangs just out of reach, the dark side swirling around her, tendrils wrapping around her heart, dragging her down.

_Intrepid_ bursts upwards and Celebris watches the crew move around the bridge.

They keep an eye on her, not afraid - _not yet_. Watching her with awe, rather. She can hear whispers between crew members, wondering what happened to her when she was captive, how someone of her renown was captured to begin with. They trust her - _they shouldn’t_.

There’s a tremor in the force, the dark side recoiling in pain as someone bright comes forward.

Celebris’s hands become tight fists as she recognizes who it is. She didn’t think he’d be aboard the ship, she thought she wouldn’t see him till she touched down on Coruscant and yet - he’s here. Thutrel’s here.

“Celebris!” he cries out joyously, hurrying to her side.

The weight of her lightsaber presses against her hip like a hot iron, her blood boiling at the sight of him.

_Do nothing until you reach the Senate Tower_.

“I was so concerned for you,” he continues, “It’s good to see you again, my friend. I thought you fell -”

_Don’t you remember_? Kilran asks her, his insidious voice creeping into her mind, _Thutrel was the one to kill your crew_.

She draws her lightsaber and lunges.

Thutrel’s green blade meets hers as he steps back, shock and sadness on his face. The bridge erupts in screams as the crew panics. “Get out of here!” Thutrel yells, “Evacuate the ship!”

Again he blocks her strike, this time locking their blades and keeping her in place, forced into the struggle of brute strength as the bridge empties. Throughout the halls of the ship, a blaring alarm starts going off, red lights flash on the walls as the evacuation moves into play. She doesn’t care. She’s not here for them. She’s just here to kill Thutrel.

“Please,” he begs her, pushing her back and reluctantly pointing his lightsaber at her, “Don’t do this. You’re a good person, I know you are.”

Her staff flips around in her hands as she stalks towards him, “You don’t know me,” she snarls, “But I know you. You’re a filthy hypocrite. A coward who refuses to see himself for who you really are. You joined the Jedi Order to find your cousin! Spent years of your life trying to find her! Begged me at every turn to look for her in the force! And then you have the _audacity_ to tell me to let my feelings go when _you get my crew murdered_?!”

He brings his blade up just in time, sparks flying an inch from his face as she tries to behead him, “ _Please_ ,” he implores her, “I know you cared for your crew-”

She slams her blade against his, “My friend!” she accuses him, raising her staff above her head only to bring it down with all her rage.

“Don’t do this -” He leaps to the side and she stabs backwards with her secondary saber.

“My padawan!” she yells.

He dodges just in time, “I know it hurts, I _know_! I’ve been there! Just please, listen -”

With a roar, she slams her staff into the nearest computer terminal, melting the metal and causing an explosion as the electronics short out. She rips the shards from the deck and throws them at him, “ _My husband! Felix_!” she screams, “ _You killed the man I love!_ ”

That finally makes him falter. He gapes at her, wordless pain and sympathy and sorrow rebounding through the force.

The terminal crashes into him.

He’s thrown against the side of the ship. Unsteadily, he gets up on shaking feet, wiping a smear of blood from his cheek as a cut on his face starts to bleed. His lightsaber trembles in his hands. The chunks of metal from the terminal fall from his robes when he takes a step forward and he shakily raises his blade up to guard.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice barely heard over the blare of the alarm, “I didn’t know.”

It doesn’t matter. He killed Felix anyway. What does knowing change? “‘Sorry’ won’t help you now,” she says coldly.

She draws on the dark side like wrapping herself in a cloak of power and leaps for him, plunging her staff into the hull of the ship as he rolls to the side just in time.

When their blades clash again, this time she’s the one pushing him back, every blow of her staff sends him one step backwards. Like the intake of breath before a scream, she gathers the force in her hand. Funnels every ounce of her fury and rage into the chaos. There’s no control this far down. All she can do is let the force rip through her and leave her torn and exposed, like a wire stripped of it’s covering. If she can use this to kill Thutrel then she doesn’t care what it does to her, what havoc it wreaks on her body.

She knocks Thutrel’s saber to the side and her palm punches forward, releasing the build up of force energy.

Lightning explodes on the bridge.

Thutrel is slammed into the transparisteel viewport, sliding down to land on the edge. Once the lightning dissipates, he looks at her and for the first time she sees the same emotion she’s feeling mirrored on him.  

There’s no turning back from this.

Tears fall from his eyes. Unbearable regret and pain crosses his face and he looks away. He plunges his blade through the transparisteel, shattering it. Massive shards of glass fly across the bridge before being sucked out into the air. The wind grabs at his hair and clothes, tugging at him, pulling him backwards.

He lets go.

“No!” she screams. This isn’t how he goes! She doesn’t lose here!

Without really caring for what damage it could do, she measures the distance. Thinks about how high up they are. Considers the chip at the back of her neck and how the Empire can track her anywhere in the galaxy and kill her. She weighs the value of her life and decides.

Saberstaff in hand, she runs for the shattered viewport and throws herself out into open space.

There’s a moment of glorious falling and then blackness.

~*~

Thutrel lands in the open-air cockpit of a military speeder. He might have fractured the bones in his legs somewhat, but he rolls instead of sticking the landing and nothing’s broken. Nothing physical, anyway.

“So,” Major Ishzir, leader of Havoc Squad says, helping him to his feet, “Garza was right. The whole thing was a trap after all.”

He lets the Rattataki guide him to a seat, his thoughts still focusing on the red madness of Celebris’s eyes as arcs of lightning burst from her hand. Painful, visual proof of how far she’s slipped into the well of the dark side. He’s failed her. She was right too, he _is_ a hypocrite. After all his years spent trying to track down Yaina, and then he had the gall to tell her to release her emotions into the force? No wonder she wants him dead.

“I’ve failed,” he tells her.

Ishzir glowers at him, “Damn straight you’ve failed. Garza’s going to want to hear about this. At least you’re the so called ‘Hero of Tython’. They’ll probably cut you a lot of slack.”

“I don’t deserve any of that,” he mutters.

He’s lost Celebris. Probably for good. They’ve spent years fighting on opposite ends of the galaxy, and now while they’re on the same planet his oldest friend has never been so far away.

~*~

Celebris wakes up to pain and a far too familiar presence.

“I did mention,” Kilran says calmly, staring down at her crumpled form on the forest floor. A ring of soldiers surrounds them, a few rushing to grab a medical gurney. Some point blasters at her, still regarding her as a threat even though both her legs are likely broken and she can feel the fractures in her ribs. “No matter where you go, I can always find you.”

She coughs out a glob of blood, “Thutrel. He got away.”

Kilran’s unconcerned, “You will have other chances to kill him. I assure you.”

The medics load her into a transport and hook needles into her arms, pumping her full of kolto. She failed. At securing either Thutrel’s death or her own.

Kilran will always find her.

~*~

The scans of Gimrizh’s hearts are promising, only small micro tears left in the muscle tissue and a knot of scars on her back and below her sternum. Unfortunately it looks like the lightsaber entered her body at an upwards angle, resulting in a larger area of damage than it might have been otherwise. Thin hairline fractures along her scapula still remain from the subpar bone reconstruction the Republic gave her.

At least she’s alive, Malavai reminds himself. She’s alive, and she’s safe. Whatever else the Barsen’thor or the Republic did to her, he can fix it. She’ll heal.

“My lord,” he tells her, setting up a kolto drip for her, “you should rest.”

She’s curled up on the medical bed, her knees tucked to her chest. At his prompting, she obediently holds out her arm so that he can place an IV needle, “I’d rather not. It would just confuse me.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asks.

There are marks on her wrists. He almost misses them at first, but they become more and more obvious as he fixes the IV. Thick red lines around both her wrists, partially scabbed over in some areas and still raw and bloody in others. They’d had her in cuffs, he remembers. How terrified was she, if she did this to herself trying to get out of them?

She lets him apply kolto to her wrists, watching with some look in her eyes that he can’t name. “No,” she tells him, hesitantly. “There’s nothing.”

It’s a lie. “My lord, if there’s anything…” _You can trust me_ , he tries to say, but that might be a lie too.

“I know,” she says. She rubs at her wrists, fingers trailing through the kolto. He hopes that she’s not considering rubbing off the chemicals. “I know I’m a wreck. It’s just… I honestly thought I was going to die,” she reiterates.

Ah. So it isn’t just lack of confidence that makes her shy away from all personal ambition. Not just uncertainty that leads her towards prioritizing survival above all else. He slowly pries her hands off her wrists and wraps the injuries in white bandages.

“When I contacted the Republic,” he tells her, “they informed me that you had been sentenced to death. Even though I knew that the odds favored our success, I still doubted. If I had failed, I would never have forgiven myself. I find that I lack the words to describe how afraid I was, for that one moment, that I had been too late. I cannot imagine how it would have felt to drag that moment out for days on end. You don’t need to say anything you don’t want to, my lord. I’m not asking anything of you.”

Once the bandages are secure, she hesitantly reaches out. He takes both her hands in his and waits. “It felt like a panic attack that just never ended,” she confides, “Days of not being able to breath properly. That’s the feeling, isn’t it?”

“I imagine so, my lord,” he agrees, letting her keep going.

“I - I gave up,” she admits, “Hoping that I’d somehow survive, that there was some future for me - it hurt too much. Giving up was easier.”

“You didn’t think that the Empire would make an effort to recover you,” he realizes.

She just stares at him, like she doesn’t understand his confusion, “I’m just some Zabrak. What am I worth to the Empire, really? I’m valuable because I’m a fighter. But I - I was defeated by the Barsen’thor. If I’m no longer a worthwhile fighter, then why would the Empire bother?”

He wishes he had a clear cut answer to that. In many respects, she’s right. If he hadn’t pushed Kilran then he doubts anyone would have enacted a rescue mission. “I can’t answer that, my lord,” he says, “I’m not really certain what convinced Grand Moff Kilran to approve this mission. All I can tell you is that I believe your worth, both as an individual and to the Empire, is beyond measure. And that I would _never_ have abandoned you to the Republic.”

“Thank you,” a faint smile tugs at her lips as she tells him, “If I’ve learned anything, it’s that there’s no one else I’d rather entrust my life to.”

He looks down at her hands, so much smaller than his own and already so much more damaged, “That’s an honor I don’t think I deserve, my lord.”

“And yet it’s yours,” she says softly, “Now and always.”

There’s nothing he can say to that. She trusts him when she shouldn’t, what has he done to earn such an honor? He pulls back and retrieves the bar of chocolate from of his medkit. He hands it to her, “Here. Vette requested I give this to you.”

She looks incredulously at the bar and then laughs, “Chocolate _indeed_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is (i think) going to be Jaesa's interlude. Still not sure but eh.  
> Also! There's a new au featuring the horizon trash team that tumblr talked me into doing, so check out Mists of Dromund Kaas, the medival au we all don't need.  
> Thoughts? I'm always a slut for comments


	17. Interlude : Jaesa Willsaam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaesa finds something to believe in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Jaesa's interlude chapter!  
> As always, shoutout to FallenAscendant!

No one notices her.

Jaesa stands silently behind Gisselle Organa as they flit from group to group. It’s easy work. The general greets the nobles and thanks them for their contributions if they’ve made any, or politely reminds them to do so if they haven’t. The wording is familiar, designed for repetition and guilt while never outright asking or threatening.

‘What a pity that Jurano still isn’t rebuilt’ Gisselle will say, ‘if only there were more resources’ she’d continue, spinning out the narrative to pluck credits from the pockets of the dukes and lords and counts that try and act as though Alderaan is just going to magically solve all its problems without help.

Their planet is still a bombed out shell from the war, whole cities forever changed, once beautiful spacescrapers and palaces now nothing more than ruins. Jaesa remembers what it had been like before the war, or at least she remembers what her parents told her and that’s as close as she’s going to get. When she was young, her parents fled from the Sith’s advance, running back to the safety of House Organa and the haven that had been the Apalis Coast. The small city they used to live in, surrounding a minor house’s manor in the north, doesn’t exist anymore. The house that once stood there, a few generations of nobility, is gone.

And all these people, these rich and pompous members of the nobility, act as if there was barely even a way at all. ‘What a shame’ they say, ‘that we lost money during the war’ they’d mean.

Even though she tries to be calm about it and consider this from their perspective, there’s still a spark of hatred buried deep down.

“Is Duke Kendoh lying to me again?” Gisselle asks as soon as they’re far enough away from the man in question.

Jaesa nods, “He hasn’t said an honest word to you this whole time.”

The general sighs and glances back at the duke, “One of these days, I’ll get my army across the frontlines and shoot that bastard in the head. No more of these supposed ‘peace talks’ for me, just a blaster and his piss-baby face.”

Of all the people Jaesa’s worked for as a handmaiden, she likes Gisselle the most. The woman’s honest and straightforward most of the time, and when she isn’t, it’s for a reason that Jaesa can understand. It’s a rare day when she can tell the general is lying to her face. And early on in Jaesa’s career serving the general, Gisselle figured out that Jaesa always knows when people are lying.

They make good use of this.

Jaesa doesn’t mind being used as a lie detector at events like this, if only because she knows that it’s for a damn good reason.

She likes stripping away the lies, exposing the truth underneath. It gives her hope that one day, she’ll be doing something greater than this. Something with real meaning. She looks around the hall full of nobles and wants to tear the whole system of lies and corruption down.

“And Tian Organa?” Gisselle prompts, “I heard he was channeling reconstruction funds into a bank account he controls.”

The duke in question is on the other side of the hall, chatting to a lesser noble from one of the Republic aligned houses. Jaesa hesitates to reach out with her mind to try and read him. “But he’s on our side.”

Gisselle sighs, “Oh,I know. I’ve worked with him during the negotiations between us and Thul. He’s a politician through and through, alright. I don’t know if the rumors are true, but I’d love to wrestle a favor from him.”

“You want me to find some dirt on him, then,” Jaesa confirms. This is the part of her job that she likes less.

“When you have time,” Gisselle agrees, “He’s hardly the most corrupt noble in this room, let alone on this planet.”

One of the aides skitters up to them, a woman nervously wringing her hands, “Um, please forgive my interruption?”

Gisselle waves the woman forward, “What is it?”

“Oh,” the woman glances between the two of them before her eyes settle on Jaesa. It’s not quite nerves that’s making the woman shaky, but a mix of confusion and awe. Like someone very important indeed is asking her to run this little errand. “Actually, I’ve a message for Miss Jaesa Willsaam?”

“That’s me,” Jaesa says.

The woman’s emotions seem to focus on Jaesa, like she’s evaluating her. “Jedi Master Nomen Karr is in the blue room on the thirtieth floor. He’s requesting to speak with you.”

A Jedi? Jaesa reaches out to try and find him, figure out why he wants to talk with her and - oh of course. What she’s doing must be using what the Jedi call the force. She’s never needed to name it before. “I’ll be right there,” she assures the woman, before bowing to Gisselle and rushing off down the hall.

She takes the lift four floors down, twisting her hands behind her back to avoid anxiously biting at her nails.

Master Karr is standing in front of a viewport, plain beige robes a startling difference from the opulence Jaesa’s used to seeing. A lightsaber hangs from his belt and she wonders how he managed to bring it into the building, when all blasters had been confiscated at the doors. Do the rules on arms not apply to Jedi? He turns around to face her as soon as she takes a single step over the entranceway.

“Ah, Jaesa Willsaam, I presume?” he smiles at her, but she can’t read any emotion behind it. Whatever he’s feeling, it’s too deep down for her to read without undue focus. She’s tempted to try, but he’s a Jedi. He could probably tell and would take offense.

She nods, “This has to do with my abilities, doesn’t it?”

“The force is strong with you,” he agrees, “I’ve heard many things about your abilities recently. Already, your skills are quite impressive. If trained, you could go on to do great things.”

“You mean… Jedi training? I don’t know if I could live up that.”

“You could. The Jedi have not attempted to recruit you yet, as your parents refused to give you up when you were young. But now the case has changed somewhat,” Karr starts to pace as he explains, “The Republic is being throttled by one man, a Sith named Darth Baras, my personal nemesis. He has a network of spies spread throughout the Republic, across the galaxy, in positions of incredible power and influence. Do you care for the Republic?”

Jaesa bites down on her lip and tries to think through the information he’s giving her. For all the Republic’s talk about recovering from the war, she knows that progress is slow going. She just doesn’t know it’s that bad. SIS is supposed to be taking control of the intelligence gap that allowed Imperial Intelligence to crush them during the war. The thought that there are so many people hiding in the Republic and corrupting it, rotting it from the core, is distressing. “Of course I care for the Republic,” she says quietly.

“Then the choice should be easy,” Karr continues, “If you joined the Jedi, I would take you as my padawan and find the best way to draw out your abilities. You could hunt down Baras’ spies and secure the Republic.”

“I don’t know if I could do that,” she admits, “My abilities aren’t as powerful as I think you believe they are.”

He waves off her concern, “They could be. You could have power beyond imagining. And more importantly, you could return stability to the Jedi Order and the Republic. Weed out the liars and the traitors from the system. You’ve been given a rare and startling ability and I know that there is so much positive work you could do.”

“The Jedi and the Republic can return order to the galaxy,” he promises her. “Surely a life as a handmaiden on Alderaan cannot be your greatest ambition. If you decide to help me, to help the Jedi, the Republic, I can show you the truth of things. Removing Baras’ spies will return purity of purpose to the Republic. We can begin to make greater strides than ever before.”

That’s all she’s ever wanted. To expose the corruption and leave the galaxy better than how she found it. If joining the Jedi Order is the right thing to do, then she will dedicate herself to that cause. Power has little to tempt her, but _justice_ …

“What would you have me do?” she decides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the next chapter might take a while to come out, I'm going to be driving up to college and doing a week of orientation and all that, so writing will be slow. That being said, I'll get it written asap  
> As always, please comment!


	18. Glass Houses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a chapter that took so long to write, this is surprisingly short. Lot of stuff happens tho  
> Shoutout to FallenAscendant as usual!  
> This chapter, aka: Gimrizh and Jaesa are really bad at keeping secrets, Vette and Quinn figure a few things out, and Pierce is really damn annoyed

Gimrizh barely takes two steps off the shuttle before a blue blur hurtles into her stomach.

All the air in her lungs is smooshed out and her legs fail to work properly. There’s an aching pain in her chest from the contact and she goes down. The two of them crash to the spaceport floor as she tries desperately to detangle the mass of hug-crazy Vette from her torso, “Air,” she croaks out, “I need it.”

“You’re back!” Vette squeals happily, finally leaping to her feet, “Took you long enough!”

“Lord Gimrizh is still injured, Vette,” Quinn reprimands her, “Do not exacerbate the damage.” He leans down to offer Gimrizh a hand up that she gladly accepts.

She dusts herself off, “I’m fine, really. Just… avoid crushing, please.”

“Alright, no crushing,” Pierce says, before lightly punching her in the shoulder, “Good to see you again, boss. Welcome back to the better side of the galaxy.”

Stars, even when he’s going easy on her it still stings. She rolls her shoulder to get the twinges of pain out and then smirks, “I see you haven’t lost your touch. It’s good to _be_ back. You have no idea how terrible Republic prison food is.”

“ _That’s_ your concern?” Vette asks incredulously.

Gimrizh is about to answer that with something hopefully snappy until Jaesa pushes her way forward. There’s a guilty expression on her apprentice’s face and she’s biting her lip, but one of her bright smiles lights up her face. Unexpectedly, she wraps her arms around Gimrizh and hugs her. Jaesa, Gimrizh discovers, hugs people like she’s personally trying to squeeze every bit of unhappiness out of their souls. Her perfume smells like safety.

“Welcome back, master,” she says quietly.

Hesitantly, like she’s hugging a bomb, Gimrizh returns the embrace, “It’s good to see you again, my favorite apprentice.”

Jaesa laughs, “Do you have any _other_ apprentices that I don’t know about?”

“I’m secretly hoarding adorable apprentices in the cargo hold,” Gimrizh replies. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“Don’t tell Toovee, you mean,” Pierce jokes.

Gimrizh delicately extracts herself from Jaesa’s arms. She clears her throat, “Back to business. I’m on forced medical leave for a full week, so I’m giving you all that time off. At the end of the week, I’ll be receiving my new assignment from Darth Baras. If there’s anything you need to do on Dromund Kaas, I suggest you get your affairs in order. It might be a while before we’re able to return.”

“Sweet!” Vette cheers, “Let’s hit up a cantina!”

“ _You_ can,” Quinn informs her sternly, “but Lord Gimrizh is not supposed to consume any alcohol for the next forty-eight hours.”

Gimrizh would pout, but she doesn’t want to seem childish. She knows Quinn’s right, hells, she doesn’t even _know_ how many different drugs are in her system, numbing her chest pains, helping heal the micro tears in her heart, fixing the damage to her scapula. Actually, she’d give up alcohol for a lot longer than just the next two days if it means she can stay on pain medication. Unfortunately, Quinn’s told her she’ll have to go without it to avoid addiction, which does make sense, but she still wishes it were otherwise.

“Maybe some other time,” she tells Vette.

Vette grins, “I’ll hold you to that.”

“I hope you don’t actually mean that.” Gimrizh turns to the rest of the crew, “You’re dismissed. And thank you all. You didn’t have to come back for me, and you did anyways. I - that’s something I won’t forget. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to pass out for three days, see you in a week.”

Important bit said, she strides towards the spaceport exit before anyone can reply. She doesn’t think she can handle more emotions today.

~*~

“I’ll get her back,” Thutrel promises. He knows it’s going to be near impossible to do so, but he doesn’t have a choice. There’s no way he’s going to let the Empire turn one of his closest friends into a weapon - and they will. The Barsen’thor of the Jedi Order, recently turned to the dark side of the force? Grand Moff Kilran is regrettably too clever to let someone as powerful and renowned as she is just fade away. So she’ll be brainwashed in whatever way the Empire can and sent out to kill her fellow members of the Republic like a weapon instead of a person.

Tharan Cedrax doesn’t stop whatever he’s doing on a datapad, “Yes, well, you’ll forgive me if I doubt that.”

Twice now, Thutrel’s failed. If he were Tharan, he’d doubt himself too. “There must be _something_ that I can do. I can’t just leave her.”

“Do excuse me, Master Jedi,” Tharan says lightly, “but I believe that your priorities are somewhat divided.”

Thutrel doesn’t understand, “No, I’m dedicated to helping Celebris. She’s my friend.”

“You’re a battery that’s powering too many separate devices,” he explains, not even bothering to look up from his work, “If you keep trying to find Celebris after already failing to do so, then it’s quite likely that the Grand Master, or General Garza, or General Var Suthra - anyone, really - is going to stop you. It’d be an inefficient use of resources. You, similarly to Master Celebris, are a powerful front lines combatant. You won’t be held back on a rescue mission that no one believes has any chance of success.”

“That’s rather pessimistic,” Thutrel comments.

Tharan frowns at his lightpen before scribbling down another sentence, “Pessimism and optimism are so relative. Regardless, you’re probably going to be sent off Coruscant soon. Redirect your energy towards fighting in this distasteful war instead of chasing after Master Celebris.”

And what, abandon her to the Empire? Thutrel can’t believe that Tharan, who’s traveled for Celebris for a long stretch of the war, is advocating such a plan. “I can’t just give up on her!”

“Oh for -” Tharan huffs, “That’s not what I’m saying at all. I’m _saying_ , let Holiday track down Celebris. _We_ can get her back, while you go off and do what your superior officers tell you to do and win the war.”

Thutrel gapes, “But - Holiday’s a computer program.”

“I’ll thank you _not_ to insult her,” Tharan sniffs, offended by the implications.

“And you’re a pacifist.”

“Of course I am, fighting is dreadful, really. But Qyzen isn’t.”

For a moment, he seriously considers it. “You’re a brilliant man, Tharan, and I know Holiday is quite skilled as well,” Thutrel says carefully, because he is _not_ seriously considering it, of course, it would be very reckless of him to allow such a thing, “But even with Qyzen, you still only number three people, one of whom is not even corporeal. Three people cannot break into the most secure and highly defended planet in the Empire.”

“And perhaps we’ll be lucky enough not to have to,” Tharan argues, “It’s just a hypothesis right now, I’ve yet to test it.

What _can_ Thutrel do? Really? He’s failed twice now, General Garza is furious with him for losing both Celebris and Gimrizh, as well as forcing Havoc Squad to temporarily withdraw from the front lines for that mission. The chances of him getting permission for a second rescue mission are slim to none and -

He’s probably going to be pulled away from the war effort soon. The force is anticipatory, a buzzing hum that increases with each passing minute. Any day now, he’s going to be called on to take out the Emperor.

The sooner they neutralize the Emperor, the sooner the war ends. The sooner they can get Celebris back.

“What do you need?” Thutrel asks.

Tharan thinks it over for a minute, “Well, since _Sky Hunter_ isn’t - available, I need a ship.”

~*~

A massive garage space, three floors, four bedrooms, two offices, a balcony large enough to land a shuttle on - Gimrizh sits down on the staircase and leans against the wall before she gets too overwhelmed. There’s a reason she’s never been to her apartment in Kaas City before. Well, two reasons. The first is that her residence actually was changed when she gained the title of ‘Lord’. The second is that she barely knows what to do with all the space on _Horizon_ , let alone this massive penthouse.

She doesn’t have stuff. Houses should have stuff in them, holos or comfortable chairs or something. Stars, she’s practically a krething _Jedi_ , complete with their attitude towards material possessions.

There’s a spectacular view from up here, though.

Thick grey clouds block out the sun, pouring rain over the planet’s surface. A number of ships navigate through the storm, a few dreadnaught class vessels as well as some smaller transports. _Horizon_ is sitting in the spaceport and she’s grounded.

It’s not as though the idea of medical leave is something she inherently objects to. She certainly understands the need for it, and she _does_ have rather a lot of recuperation to do. The area all around her shoulder, upper stomach, and spine aches every time she moves, all caused by either bone fractures or muscular strain. Right now, she’d be a liability on the front lines.

Even still, she’d rather be anywhere but here. She’s hoping that Baras will holo her and send her on another of his insane missions to some part of the galaxy. Just the lightsabers in her hands and a soon to be dead being in front of her. Fighting is simpler, easily dealt with. It’s not… _messy_ or _complicated_. Not confusing.

Killing seems to be the only thing she can do _right_.

The door chimes and she decides that she’s going to ignore it. If it’s anyone she knows or if it’s anything important, they can holo her. She just doesn’t feel like moving or standing up right now.

She hears the lift door slide open anyways.

Vette skips into the stairwell, a supply crate balanced on her hip, “You didn’t let me in, so I sliced the door console. I’d say sorry, but it’d be a lie.”

“What are you doing here?” she asks, not bothering to get up.

“Apparently,” Vette replies, standing a few stairs below her so that they’re at eye level, “I’m here to make sure you don’t fall asleep on a staircase. Stars, you look like you haven’t showered in a month.” She puts the supply crate down on the steps, “I’m the _nicest_ , okay, I brought you a huge stack of clothes and soaps and things. A candle that smells like some Alderaanian flower - I’m actually not sure what kind it is, but Jaesa says they smell amazing.”

Gimrizh gives the supply crate a suspicious look. She still remembers that force-damned pink sweater. “I suppose I am more inclined to trust Jaesa’s opinion.”

“Rude,” Vette replies. “Seriously, come on, stand up, get your ass in gear. Can’t sit there all day. I know, I know - _injured_ , but that’s no reason to just let yourself become a mopey, broody, sad-sack Sith.”

She glares at Vette, which unfortunately, doesn’t seem to do much, “I’m certain I can manage my life just fine without your forced assistance. Also, insulting me isn’t the best way to get me to do what you want. Try flattery next time, or bribery. I’m much more open to suggestion when plied with delicious food.”

“Wow, look at you, trying to change the subject,” Vette grins smugly at her. She flaps her hands, “Come on, lazy-bones. Get up.”

“Go away,” Gimrizh sighs, “I’m _fine_.”

Vette places her hands on her hips in a poor imitation of a stern overseer, “Do I need to drag Quinn over here to tell you boring medical shit about depression or something? Because I will, if that makes you get up.”

How does Vette manage to do that? She does seem to have this knack for always cutting right to the heart of an issue. For months now, Vette’s been saying - Oh stars.

Gimrizh’s jaw falls open, “How long have you known?”

“Know what?” Vette asks, “I mean, I know _everything_ cause I’m awesome like that but -”

“Stop trying to wiggle out of this!” she hisses, her face turning red with embarrassment, “How long have you known about -” she starts wringing her hands nervously, “about me… and Quinn.”

Slowly, Vette’s eyes widen as she understands the question. She sits down on the staircase next to Gimrizh and pats her shoulder, “So. You finally woke up, huh?”

“You’ve known this whole damn time, haven’t you?” she realizes.

Vette nods, “Yup. Since… oh, since Nar Shaddaa. _Maybe_ since Tatooine, but I was pretty sure after Nar Shaddaa. I’ve got to admit, you two are so krething stubborn and emotionally stunted that I almost thought I was wrong a couple of times. Guess you were pretty far up the river of denial, huh?”

“How did _you_ know?” Gimrizh asks quietly, “Not about me and Quinn, but… with Jaesa. How did you know that you love her?”

“Oh yikes, you’re in deep, aren’t you?” When it becomes obvious that Gimrizh isn’t going to answer that question, Vette thinks for a moment before saying, “You know that feeling where you come home after a long day and kick your shoes off and flop down on your bed? Like all the stress and tension kinda bleeds out of you and everything feels a little bit softer? For me, that’s how being around Jaesa feels. Sure, there’s a whole bunch of other feelings wrapped up in there too, but it - she just makes things feel _right_ somehow.”

Gimrizh leans her head back against the wall and stares at the ceiling, “She loves you a great deal, you know. You’re quite lucky.”

“Hell yeah I’m lucky,” Vette agrees.

“Why are you-” she pauses, “You hate Quinn. Why do you care?”

Vette shrugs, “Eh. I mean, I’m pretty sure I can slap the speciesism out of him. I think he’s a snob and a nerd, but I don’t _hate_ him. Besides, you’re basically my sister. If he makes you happy, then that’s what I care about. For some reason, he seems to be the only damn person on this crew who can actually help you with all your weirdness and that does go a long way in my book. I mean, you could do better, but whatever makes you happy.”

“Ugh,” Gimrizh groans and buries her head in her arms, “I hate talking about feelings with you.”

She hears more than sees the smug look on Vette’s face, “It’s cause I’m always right about these things, is it?”

There is no way she’s going to admit that. Vette’s ego is large enough as it is. “Vette, _please_.”

“Fine, fine,” Vette allows, clearly still convinced of her own prowess, “So, you finally figured out that you’re head over heels for Quinn. What are you going to do?”

Gimrizh lifts her head up to stare at Vette in confusion, “What do you _mean_ , ‘what am I going to do’?”

There’s a beat of silence before Vette gapes at her, “Oh stars, you’re not going to do _anything_?”

“What do you suggest I do?” she demands.

“Tell him! Krething _say_ something! Don’t just do that thing you do where you bottle it all up and pretend that there’s nothing!” Vette cries in exasperation, “Go get yourself a slice of happiness for once!”

“And what,” Gimrizh says pointedly, “would that accomplish? Quinn is a valuable member of this crew, and he’s a good officer, and I am not going to force him to be reassigned because I couldn’t handle my own force-damned emotions. And it wouldn’t be fair to him - _especially_ since I’m his commanding officer. _Saying something_ , as you put it, would just cause problems. He’s already had enough trouble from Baras and krething _Broysc_ , I am not going to make things worse for him!”

Vette blinks, “You- Just when I think you’ve finally opened your damn eyes. You think he doesn’t care, huh?”

No, Gimrizh doesn’t think that at all. That’s the whole problem. “He doesn’t care for me in the same way,” she insists, “It’s different.”

A flat look crosses Vette’s face. “Alright. You think that. I don’t. Prove it. Ask Jaesa to find out if he does care. If it turns out that he doesn’t, I won’t bring the matter up again. You’ll finally have found a way to shut me up.”

She flinches away, “I won’t do that. I’m not going to ask Jaesa to solve my problems for me. Besides, it’d be an invasion of his privacy.”

“That’s not the reason and we both know it.” Vette stands up and looks heartwrenchingly disappointed with her, “You won’t ask Jaesa because the thought that someone might actually love you scares you to death, and you’re a krething coward.” She throws her hands up, “That’s it. I’ve said my bit.”

Then she makes her way down the stairs to the lift and silently leaves the apartment, not saying a single other word.

The lift doors shut and Gimrizh is left alone again.

It’s not even that Vette is wrong. Everything she’s said has been painfully accurate. Gimrizh _is_ a coward. Cowardice is her sole motivator, it’s what gets her out of bed in the mornings, what keeps her working for Baras, and what saves her life in battle. She’s not going to say a word to Quinn because she is afraid. Because she knows what will happen.

Those cursed words will slip out and he’ll give her a look as though he isn’t sure what she just said, if she’s lost her mind, if she’s trying to play a joke. And then he’ll realize that she’s serious and slowly the confusion will turn to disgust. How she could possibly think that he’d be anything but insulted. How could she be so arrogant as to project her feelings onto him. How could she presume to think that a brilliant officer with such ambition would ever lower himself to care for a Zabrak with Baras’s boot grinding at her neck.

Why would he? She _knows_ that he’s dated med students in the past, Lucian told her so. Med students, educated and well-off. In comparison, she’s a brute whose only skills lie in the realm of slitting open guts and force-choking enemies. She’s not clever or talented or pretty. She’s just an acolyte that got unlucky.

Using a hatred-filled burst of the force, she pulls the supply crate to her feet and opens it up. Might as well see what Vette brought over.

She withdraws the promised candles that smell like a high mountain wind. A few bars of fancy bath soaps, two action holovids, a box of candies. A stack of clothes. All newly bought, but nothing that Gimrizh wouldn’t have picked out for herself. Dark browns and reds, steely greys and midnight blacks. Perhaps more eclectic than her usual tastes and there’s definitely Vette’s flair in here.

But no pinks. Somehow she feels worse looking at this bundle that she would if she were holding another fluffy pink sweater. That would be a slap to the face, this is a punch to the gut.

“Damn you, Vette,” she mutters.

~*~

Vette storms into Jaesa’s apartment, flops down on the bed, picks up Jaesa’s hand, and places it on top of her head.

“Bad day?” Jaesa asks. Knowing what Vette’s looking for, she starts lightly scratching her head between her lekku. She can sense the annoyance rolling off Vette in waves, but it’s best to just let her talk it out instead of trying to use her powers for psychoanalysis. “Did my master not take our gifts well?”

There’s a groan and then Vette flips over to bury her face in the blankets, “No!” she yells, her voice muffled, “She’s just - she’s such an idiot!”

Jaesa moves her hand around and keeps scratching, “Would you like to talk about it?”

“Can’t,” Vette mutters, “It’s not my secret to tell.”

Such an honorable declaration. Jaesa smiles down at her as she asks, “Well, is there something that you can do?”

“I can slap some sense into Gimrizh?” Vette suggests. “You know, punch her till she realizes she’s being a complete idiot and sabotaging her own damn life?”

Oh dear. As much as Jaesa loves and respects her master, she does have to admit that Gimrizh has a number of more… oblivious tendencies. There’s little that can be done about it, in her opinion. Her master will change eventually, but if Vette presses, it’s more likely to fracture their friendship than change Gimrizh overnight. “Something that will actually work?”

“No,” Vette reluctantly agrees, “I guess I got nothing.”

“That’s fine. You don’t have to have the answers to everything, and you don't have to fix other people’s problems,” she comments.

Vette props herself up on her elbows to give Jaesa a sceptical look, “Says the person trying to fix literally the entire Empire. Do you want a cup of caff to go with that hypocrisy or will you settle for sarcasm?”

“I think you already chose sarcasm _for_ me,” Jaesa replies, “Besides, I’m not fixing the Empire. Right now, I’ve been doing as my master does. Surviving.” She falls back on the bed next to Vette and throws an arm over her eyes, “I want to help make things better but I’m not. I couldn’t… Celebris is so similar to me and I couldn’t even help her. If I can’t help a single person how can I do anything for the Empire or the greater galaxy?”

“Ah.” Vette moves over to rest her head on Jaesa’s stomach, “Well, I have to give you the advice you gave me two seconds ago; stop trying to fix everything.”

Jaesa sighs, “I need to do _something_.”

“Take up yoga?” Vette suggests without an ounce of seriousness.

She can’t help the laugh that bursts from her lips, “No, no. Something _useful_.”

“Alright,” Vette thinks on it for a moment, her emotions settling down to the calm undercurrents of deep thought. There’s a bubble of mischievousness in the force from her and then she says, “I’m going to keep giving you the same advice you gave me. Is there something you _can_ do? Preferably something that’ll actually work, you know.”

“I can use the force,” Jaesa lists, “and swing a lightsaber, and I can read people regardless of whatever mental shielding they might have.”

Vette slowly nods, “Yep. Those are all things you can do. So what can you do with that?”

At this point, she falters a bit. “I don’t know. My master is more skilled with a blade than I am, and I’m but an apprentice. A former _Jedi_ apprentice, at that. Whatever political power I might have within the Empire is limited by both my low rank and my past as a member of the Jedi Order. On top of that, I cannot poke at the mynocks too closely, as I’m not really a full Sith and any actions that place me under scrutiny would risk revealing both me and my master.”

“Wow, I’m hearing a whole lot of ‘no’ and not enough inspiring ideas,” Vette remarks, “What can _you_ do that Gimrizh _can’t_ or _won’t_?”

Well, her master has always been poor at sensing others. That’s the one area that Jaesa unequivocally excels in. “My power to read others. She has nothing like it - no Jedi or Sith has anything comparable.”

“Sweet!” Vette cheers, “You’ve got a secret weapon. And a goal - change the Empire. That’s step one and step two. Just mash ‘em up.”

They need help. They need like minded Sith working within the Empire as part of a larger internal effort, change driven from within the system. That’s what Jaesa had thought her master was a part of at first. A grassroots movement that can eventually subvert the corrupt and malicious Sith that have wrapped the upper levels of Imperial society around their fingers. Jaesa’s scanned whole planets before, she did it on Hoth. If she knows what she’s looking for, it’s easier to filter through such massive amounts of information. She can just pick out the force signatures that reflect her own alignment.

“If I can find other Sith like us - Sith that aren’t dark side, but aren’t light side either - If we have _help_ …” she trails off as she considers it.

Vette pushes herself up and grins down at Jaesa, “That’s genius! You could just snap your fingers and call in reinforcements if you need them! And you could do like a sewing circle thing, exchanging tips on hiding from super-dark Sith!”

“This could actually work!” Jaesa agrees.

“Hell yeah it could! Go, tell the boss! Find yourself a faux-Sith friend!” Vette leans down to plant a thorough and enthusiastic kiss on Jaesa’s lips before tugging the both of them to their feet.

Jaesa grins, “I will be right back!”

~*~

“I refuse to allow this-”

Message deleted.

“Have half a mind to -”

Message deleted.

“Mark my words, I won’t-”

Malavai trashes the final recording and the holo figure of Moff Broysc disappears. If only it were that easy to make the man himself vanish. He glances down at the datapad - twelve recordings in total. Stars, that damn Moff just won’t give up. At least so far there have only been holos and thinly veiled, barely comprehensible threats. He’s tried reporting Moff Broysc, both for the man’s incompetence and for what’s obviously growing insanity.

So far, no one has done anything. One of the few responses Malavai received could be summarized as ‘that’s just how Broysc is’. Which is _unacceptable_. Allowing a key member of Imperial command to go unchecked when that member is clearly suffering from a mental disorder is near criminally negligent. Broysc is in charge of a large swathe of Imperial territory, quadrants of space that happen to be on the front lines in this war. Broysc’s capacity to harm the Empire is left without any oversight. They have their hands full with the Republic as it is, they cannot afford to have to watch out for the danger that Broysc currently is.

The taxi speeder flies through the airways of Kaas City, heavy raindrops pounding away at the durasteel. As bad as Broysc is, he’s not the most immediate threat that Malavai has to worry about.

No, beyond Broysc and the war, he needs to deal with Jaesa.

He’s not certain of anything at this point and the evidence is admittedly highly circumstantial, but if there is something that Jaesa’s hiding, it could split the crew and devastate Lord Gimrizh. As such, he needs to bring this to his lord’s attention. It’s not yet enough of an issue that he would consider bringing it to Baras, and truth be told, he still hasn’t filed his report from the Maelstrom disaster and the subsequent rescue operation. He’s not sure what to tell Baras that isn’t in the official report.

Regardless, Jaesa’s current standing is a complication that Lord Gimrizh has to know about.

As the speeder pulls up to the landing pad of Gimrizh’s building, Malavai double checks the list on his datapad. Jaesa’s suspicious reluctance to work with the Barsen’thor. Jaesa’s prison break-in. The fact that Jaesa has brown eyes and Malavai can remember the exact words Lord Gimrizh herself said on the matter.

_The dark side causes physical changes, some more pronounced than others, but the eyes always change to red or yellow_.

Malavai gets out of the speeder and pays the taxi droid.

Lord Gimrizh lives on the top floor, but for some reason the security console at her door is broken. It looks as though the panel has been sliced. The door just opens, a chime sounding through the apartment.

“I thought I made it clear that - !” Gimrizh freezes as soon as she sees him. There’s a practice saber in one of her hands and a sheen of sweat on her forehead. Maybe it’s the exertion, but her face turns bright red. “Oh -” she says, embarrassed, “I thought you were Vette.”

“Fortunately not, my lord,” he replies.

She hangs her practice blade up on a wall rack, “I think the galaxy can only handle one Vette. Please, come on in. I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he says quickly.

He follows her up the stairs to the second floor and into a sparse kitchen. There’s a kettle sitting on the stovetop and the gasser door has been left open. A container of groceries spills its contents over the counter. It looks like she’s still in the process of moving in. Gimrizh puts the kettle on and grabs a box from a cupboard, “I managed to actually pick up some tea and caff, so whichever you’d like.”

“My lord,” he hesitates, not wanting to upset her, “there’s something important I must discuss with you. It has come to my attention that -”

The box of caff slips from her fingers and falls onto the countertop, “Vette told you?!”

What gives him pause isn’t just the confusing statement, but the look of terror on her face as she asks. “Er - no? I haven’t spoken with Vette since that day at the spaceport. Is there something Vette knows that I should be aware of?”

“No, no,” Gimrizh hastily assures him, “It’s nothing. Sorry, please continue.”

“It’s about Jaesa Willsaam,” he begins. “Recent events have led to a number of concerns that I have regarding her, for lack of a better term, alignment. I know that her devotion to you is commendable, and I know you personally approved her admission to your crew. I’m not trying to doubt your judgement, my lord, please forgive me if that’s what it seems like. I have reason to suspect that Jaesa might not be Sith, or not fully, at least.”

She goes very still, “Ah. Do you have any physical evidence?”

Regrettably not. Just suspicions and coincidences. “Nothing yet, my lord.”

“And have you mentioned this to anyone else?” she asks.

“Of course not, my lord,” he tells her. This is, so far, an internal affair and he’s not going to say a word about it to Baras until he knows more. Besides, Baras asked him to report on Gimrizh, not on the rest of the crew. It’s a technicality that won’t save him if Baras presses, but as Jaesa’s yet to do anything that’s harmed either the crew or the Empire, he’s decided to report to Gimrizh and Gimrizh alone on this matter.

She sighs in relief, “At least there’s that. Thank you for coming to me about this first. That… means a great deal to me.”

Ah. He’s miscalculated. “You already knew.”

“Yes,” she admits.

“Given that you’ve allowed her to remain on the crew,” he guesses - and he is certainly _not_ panicking about the implications of that - “I’ll assume that there’s another extenuating circumstance.”

“You’re right. I’m not going to lie to you. I never…” she trails off. Eventually, she sits down on the nearest stool and says, “I never turned Jaesa to the dark side. She never fell. But she did… She decided that the best choice for her was to become my apprentice and work for the Empire and the Sith Order. I can promise you, she’s not a spy and she’s not going to turn traitor. She’s on the same side as we are, only she’s going about it in a different manner.”

It’s hardly as though he can be upset with her for keeping this secret. Besides, it makes sense. He didn’t need to know, not really. The only reason she’s telling him this now is because he asked after a series of suspicious events, not due to a change in circumstances. That said, it’s a relief to be aware of the new information. He hates the feeling of being kept in the dark, and only having half the pieces of the puzzle had been irritating, to say the least. If he is fully informed about the potential problems around Jaesa, then he can be prepared, should any issues arise. If he isn’t, then he’d be blindsided and that isn’t acceptable.

“I must say, it’s… highly unusual to allow someone who is decidedly _not_ a Sith to join the Sith Order,” he comments, carefully trying not to offend Gimrizh, “Are you certain that she is trustworthy?”

She nods, “Completely. I -”

The door chimes again.

“I am going to krething murder Vette,” Gimrizh declares, standing up and striding towards the stairwell. “If she can’t leave well enough alone, I am going to punch her and she is going to _deserve_ it.”

It’s not, to their surprise, Vette. _Jaesa_ of all people bursts into the room, “Master! I had this brilliant idea about-!” She comes to a stop as soon as she seems him, “Er - that is…”

Gimrizh slowly sits back down. “It’s fine, Jaesa. Quinn knows.”

There’s a moment of panic where Jaesa looks like she thinks he’s going to shoot her. She glances between him and Gimrizh, trying to figure out what’s going on.

“Lord Gimrizh has assured me that you can be trusted,” Malavai tells her, “For the time being, I’m going to take her word on that. I sincerely hope you don’t do anything that would contradict Lord Gimrizh’s assessment.”

“I… see?” She looks over at Gimrizh, “Master, do you want me to…?”

Gimrizh waves her hand dismissively, “No, it’s fine.”

Whatever that exchange was, Malavai’s completely missed it. Conversations with Jaesa can be strange like that, as there’s some sort of force-emotional current that she can read, giving her a third voice to listen to. He won’t pretend to understand how the force works, but it clearly gives her an edge.

“Thank you for trusting me on this,” Jaesa says, “I know that I’m not… a traditional Sith, but I’m not going to betray the Empire. I’m not going to betray my master.”

That isn’t quite what he said, “I _don’t_ trust you, actually. I trust Lord Gimrizh. There is a distinction between the two.”

“That’s fair,” Jaesa agrees, “I know I’ve kept this secret for a long time - I don’t expect trust. If there’s anything that I can do to prove my loyalty to my master, or the Empire, I will do it. I’ve chosen my path, I won’t turn away now.”

“Why did you decide to apprentice to Lord Gimrizh if you never became a Sith?” he asks. “I’m curious as to your motivations.”

Jaesa glances nervously at Gimrizh before replying, “During our confrontation on Hutta, certain aspects of Master Karr were revealed to me. His anger, jealously, his thirst for petty revenge, and his willingness to use me as a tool. I thought, I had been _told_ that the Jedi Order was free of such malicious emotions. It’s funny, Master Karr promised me that he would show me the truth of the galaxy, and in a way, he did. I admit, I still don’t know if Master Karr was an outlier, or if the whole Jedi Order is full of such corruption. At the time, it certainly seemed that way.”

That’s ironic, “If you joined the Empire to escape the corruption of the Republic, clearly you weren’t well informed.”

“No, that wasn’t it,” she continues, “I had no future in the Jedi Order, no master, but in Master Gimrizh, I saw someone that I could follow. And while the Empire is corrupt and allows injustice, I can actually _do something_ about it now,” Jaesa grins at them, “Because of my unique power, I can identify every lie, every corrupt official, every traitor - I can _fix_ the problem!”

_Can_ she? It’s a possibility he’s not considered before, in his mind he’s mostly seen Jaesa as a military asset, as opposed to a political one. She’s never outwardly expressed a desire to actively influence the Empire before. Although, if she’s been keeping this entire plan a secret, then it would make sense that this is the first he’s hearing about it. He’s almost annoyed that he didn’t think of this first.

It’s not a plan that Jaesa could enact in the short term. She doesn’t have enough rapport within the Empire, and any attempts at ousting some of the higher ranked officials would result in an attack on her. Not to mention the fact that her past as a Jedi would likely be used against her. At this time, she’d operate best as an informant, instead of as a main player. That does mean that they’d need some sort of proof to back any of her accusations. Which raises the same issues that Broysc does. Even when faced with indisputable evidence, it seems as though there’s no one in the Empire that’s willing to throw any of their compatriots out. Grand Moff Kilran might be more willing to listen to what Gimrizh has to say, but he’s fighting a war and at the end of the day, she’s only _one_ Sith Lord.

What they would need to make this pipe dream a reality is for Gimrizh to gain a great deal more respect and power within the Empire. That way, she could act as the driving force behind this idealized purge. The ongoing war might be the best opportunity for this, but they’re limited by where Baras decides to send them.

Of course, the second option, and the one that would produce results far more quickly, is if Darth Baras were made aware. As soon as he thinks that he second guesses himself. While Baras does what is needed for the good of the Empire, he’d been blinded by vengeance and hatred for Nomen Karr. If he were made aware that Jaesa never fell to the dark side, Malavai doubts that Baras would have the clarity of mind to consider the possibilities before ordering Jaesa’s immediate death.

“You lack support - _we_ lack support,” Malavai comments, “The type of change you’re talking about would require power that no one here has.”

Jaesa nods, still enthusiastic, “That’s actually what I came here to speak to Master Gimrizh about. I have an idea. With my ability, I can scan a whole planet in maybe a few days, searching for Sith like myself, light-side Sith that are currently in hiding. I could start gathering allies.”

_That_ is a bit more questionable. “How would these light-side Sith be any different from outright traitors?”

“I’d be able to read them and then decide just how much information to share with them,” Jaesa explains, “I would never do anything that would bring harm to my master or - or the crew, and that includes misplacing my trust in fellow light Sith. I suppose it does come down to whether or not you trust my judgement.”

“This is…” Gimrizh laces her fingers together and rests her head on her hands, “This must be handled delicately. I’d rather you didn’t pursue it than risk someone finding out and trying to hurt you.”

“I will take no unnecessary risks,” Jaesa promises, “and only act after consulting you.”

Malavai still has his doubts, “You’re acting under the assumption that they would agree to work with you, that their goals would be similar. Unless you’re certain of that _beforehand_ , all you would be doing is painting yourself and Lord Gimrizh as traitors.”

“I’d make sure of that before approaching them,” she insists, “I’d never endanger my master like that.”

The conviction in her voice as she says that is difficult to argue with. He never thought that this was what Jaesa’s been hiding. And he never thought that it would actually be a viable plan. “Alright,” he eventually agrees, “Lord Gimrizh, if you agree with this, then I’ll support you as always.”

Gimrizh smiles ever so slightly, “Thank you,” she turns to Jaesa, “I’m approving this project of yours. Be careful.”

Jaesa dips her head into a bow, “I will, master. And thank you, captain. For listening.”

Once she leaves the apartment, Gimrizh runs her hands through her hair and leans against the countertop. “Thank you so much for hearing me out. I’ve kept it secret because I assumed that once we told anyone, they’d report Jaesa straight away. Even though I’m not - either way, I refuse to allow Jaesa to be hurt.”

“My lord,” he assures her, “I know that you care about your apprentice. I won’t inform Darth Baras until you ask me to. I must admit, I wasn’t expecting Jaesa’s goals to be… well, in line with my own.”

“That’s a relief,” she replies. “I didn’t know how you’d react, not really.”

Well, he wouldn’t want to disappoint her. “To be candid, it’s rather a lot to take in. However, Jaesa has a solid idea and if you agree, then I’ll support it as well. Forgive me for asking, my lord, but am I the last on the crew to be informed?”

“No, Pierce still doesn’t know,” she says.

There’s that, at least. “...How did I find out _after_ Vette?”

“Apparently,” she rolls her eyes at this, “Vette knows everything.”

~*~

“Well, it’s dreadfully dull,” Darth Zhorrid complains, sprawled out in her chair like a child, “None of those boring agents can do a _thing_ without me and I waste _all_ my time telling them what to do, of course.”

Rycus smiles at her. What a poor example of a Sith Lord, particularly one who managed to wrangle a seat on the Dark Council. Normally, he’d never waste his time on someone like her, but she’s in possession of something he wants. “I’ve never liked the administrative positions, myself,” he tells her, spinning out the lies like a skilled musician weaves a melody.

She seems so happy to have someone to talk to who can put up with her childish simpering. Most of the Dark Council is quite rightly annoyed with her and they aren’t a friendly bunch of Sith to begin with. While irritating, Sith infighting can be a valuable tool if used correctly. They push her away and he can step in to smooth over her ruffled feathers and win her over to his side. It’s like they can’t see what they’re throwing out. She’s so stupid and young that it’s easy to manipulate her.

“I can’t _stand_ it,” she whines, “All that paperwork is driving me insane! I swear they just ask me to fill out the same form over and over again, those sadistic agents. I killed one of them for it the other day, but I don’t think the message has quite gone through yet.”

He nods sympathetically, “It is _such_ a waste that a Sith of your _talents_ is kept behind a desk on Dromund Kaas.”

The look of longing she gives him is absolutely pathetic. “You really think so? I’d love to get back out there, slaughter a few Jedi… There’s really nothing quite like killing Jedi, you know. Once you get them all tied up and start cutting at them it all becomes about trying to break them, turn them, make them fall.”

“I understand the sentiment,” he says, setting up the pieces like playing a dejarik game, “There’s a certain something to taking down Jedi. I recently turned the Barsen’thor of their order - seeing her fall was a thrill beyond words.”

Her jaw falls open, the scars around her lips tugging, “The Barsen’thor? She’s fallen?”

“Oh yes,” Rycus tells her, “In fact, just last week she attacked the Republic ship _Intrepid_.”

“Force, she must have been absolutely ripped apart!” She’s practically salivating as she gleefully exclaims, “What did you do to get that precocious little Jedi to turn?”

He puts on an air of purposeful nonchalance, leaning forward ever so slightly to ask, “If you like, I could show you?”

She claps her hands together, like being presented with a new shiny toy, “ _Please_! I’d be so happy! You know, they really are wrong about you, Kilran, you’re ever so kind. Not a thing like the rest of the Council, they’re really horrible people. Not a one of them would let me see such a fascinating pet.”

“I imagine you’d be quite enamoured with the leash I’ve put her on as well,” he adds, teasing her into doing exactly what he wants.

“I’d _love_ to see,” she gushes, “I could even help if you want! Taming some Jedi dog would be such a treat.”

He makes as if to stand up and then feigns hesitation, “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work. You must be rather busy these days, and you know how I hate to take such a valuable councillor away from her duties.”

She pouts, “Come now, Kilran, you can’t tease me like that! I’d much rather spend my time playing with fallen Jedi than bored out of my skull by stupid agents.”

“I couldn’t bear to let the Empire suffer, dear councillor,” he lies, “even though I can’t stand the thought of keeping you from your fun. If it would work for you, I could always help you with a few of your duties in return for you turning your clever eye to my project? Thin out some of that dreadful paperwork for you.”

“Would you?” she asks with a smile, “That’d be so wonderful.”

So easy. He smirks, “It’d be my pleasure. I’m certain you’ll be thrilled with my new resource.”

She doesn’t even notice the trap she’s just stepped into, “I really do owe you for this, you’re doing me quite the favor.”

“Not at all.” He’s going to get his credit’s worth from her before she notices that anything’s wrong.

~*~

“You sure this’ll work?” Foris asks, holding the datapad in one hand where Lorant can’t reach it.

She purses her lips, “Certain. Now, if you don’t mind hurrying it up? I have to get this tech back to Galvan’s storage before he notices it’s gone, and we depart Dromund Kaas within the day. I don’t exactly have a lot of time to waste here.”

“Moff Galvan keeping you busy?” he suggests.

“Fuck you,” she replies, “Get to work.”

He holds his hands up in mock surrender and plugs the tiny and inconspicuous datastick into the port and waits. There’s a moment of pause and then the screen lights up and informs him that the slicing program has begun work. A hundred different password combinations flash in front of his eyes in a second as the program calculates the possible combinations and comes up with the right one.

Lorant examines the cufflink on her uniform, apparently unconcerned, “I heard from Tanido the other day.”

“Oh?” That’s not much of a surprise, really. The old gang has kept in touch some, even if they technically aren’t a squad anymore. “I got his help on this same project. He was much less helpful than you. Just told me that he didn’t know much and left it at that. Still impressed that you got this program from under Galvan’s nose.”

“Thank you. While I do appreciate the flattery,” she remarks, “don’t ask me to get anything from Galvan again. The man is as deplorable as they come and I swear that the moment they let murdering your superior officers legal I will put a bolt through that man.”

He laughs, “Any specific place you want to shoot him?”

“A number of painful locations,” she admits, not quite returning his smile.

The program beeps and enters a passcode. Foris had to admit, he was expecting the passcode to be something that actually made sense, but he has no clue why this is the code Quinn picked.

Lorant reads the datapad over his shoulder, “Rhen Var? What, the battle that we completely krething _lost_?”

“No clue,” he tells her. He pulls the datastick out and hands it back to her before inputting the hard won passcode. The files are finally accessible, but the first line is just a bunch of random nonsense. He’s not got anything yet. “Fuck. The whole thing’s coded. Should have known it wouldn’t be this easy.”

She slides the datastick back into her pocket, “Sure you’re not chasing up the wrong spire?”

“Positive,” Foris reassures her. He knows he’s on the right track. Now he’s one step closer to proving it.

~*~

Baras’ former apprentice kneels before him in the holo. “And how has your… recovery gone?” he asks, “I was most disappointed to hear of your defeat.”

“Forgive me, master,” Gimrizh says flatly, “It was a mistake I shall not make again. If I may, I would like to be assigned to the front lines. My failure has made me acutely aware of the ongoing war effort.”

He glares at her behind his mask. He’s gone to a great deal of trouble to make sure that she’s been kept in the dark about his ambition, so it does make sense that she doesn't know what she’s asking. While he’s not yet in position to kill Vengean, he’s approaching that point. If he sends her out, it’ll have to be somewhere not too far from Dromund Kaas. While he needs to return to the Citadel at some point, the journey from Korriban is negligible. He can’t send her off to deep space but he can let her run amoke for a month or so, kill a few more Jedi before he sends her to kill his master.

“Then I shall be gracious enough to allow your request. There’s a push to reclaim Balmorra. I’m sending you there.”

She bows low to the floor, “Thank you, master. I shall do my utmost to secure the glory of the Empire.”

He frowns at the holo long after she vanishes from the projection. She shouldn’t matter for much longer. Once Draahg is in position to strike at Vengean, then he can send the both of them to kill his former master. Then she’ll no longer be a threat to him and he can kill her whenever he so chooses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is going to be the last of what I'm thinking of as the 'war' arc, if you consider chapters 1-10 the 'intro' arc.  
> Comments? I'm always so desperate to hear what you guys think, what you like, what you don't like, what works, ect...


	19. All That is Gold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another long chapter! As always, shoutout to FallenAscendant, my fab beta  
> This chapter, aka: The canon plot strikes back, Quinn tries to do the right thing with mixed results, and I, the author, watch far too much Firefly (again)

Foris ducks behind the trench barriers and slams his hand down on the detonator.

The Republic outpost explodes with a magnificent blast, the boom tearing through the background noise of battle, spreading dust and debris over every surface within a hundred feet of the initial charges. A large chunk of rubble takes out a couple of pubs when it hits the ground, a nice little bonus tacked on at the end.

Objective complete. Time for clean up.

He signals to the squad he’s been working with and they head over the top to mow down the handfuls of Republic soldiers that are left, scattered over the battlefield and not much of a threat anymore. Since they blew up the base before they had time to deploy the battle droids, they only have to deal with people now. It could be a hell of a lot worse. Gimrizh and Jaesa are handling the sole Jedi knight, so there’s not even any force bullshit to account for.

They finish dealing with the cluster of pubs and move on to the next.

“Oh, _ew_ , gross,” Vette complains, trying to shake blood off her boots, “Did you _have_ to smash that guy’s head in?”

Foris laughs, “Got the job done, didn’t it?”

She shudders, “You are gross and nasty and yuck.”

“I’ll buy you a drink later, to make up for it,” he promises her. Not like it’s a big deal for him. Vette’s a good sort to go bar hopping with, even though Sobrik’s only got a couple of cantinas.

“Buy me a new pair of boots instead -” she pauses to shoot a pub in the chest before continuing, “- synthleather, preferably. You know how I am about high-quality stuff.”

As if. He guns down the nearest pub and stands back. The rest of their men are just finishing with the last few stragglers and at the front of the battle, he can see Gimrizh pull her lightsaber out of the Jedi’s head. That’s the end of that.

“Nah,” he tells Vette, taking a moment to recharge his ammo pack, “I’m too cheap.”

She scoffs, “Miser.”

The Imperial soldiers that are left regroup at the base of the mountainside where they’ve managed to put together a shitly constructed forward ops post. Still in better shape than the pub’s outpost now that it’s been bombed to hell and back. Foris greets Quinn with a glare while Vette slides on over to drop an arm around Jaesa’s shoulders.

“The base is rather thoroughly ruined,” Gimrizh says, shrugging off her blood-stained cloak and dropping it on the ground, “We’re done here. Send a holo back to Sobrik and let them know they can move in.”

There’s a bit of noise as everyone in earshot salutes and runs off to gather up the supplies and ammo and bits of durasteel plating that are scattered all over the place. Quinn sends the message to the command headquarters in Sobrik. Jaesa heads out to the battlefield to find the dead bodies and bring back their ident tags, one of her weirder habits that he’s noticed. Foris picks up a hydrospanner, tightens up a few loose parts in his blaster, and then hands it off to Gimrizh, who uses it to disassemble the recently deceased Jedi’s lightsaber.

No wonder Balmorra’s such a universally hated planet. The whole war here feels pointless.

Look at what they’ve done today. A few miles of territory outside Sobrik that will probably fall to the Republic again in a week or so once the enemy-controlled factories spit out a new batch of battle droids. They lost this planet the moment Tai Corden stepped in as president and handed all of Balmorra’s production capabilities over to the Republic on a krething silver platter. All they’re doing here is holding one meager city. The rest of the planet is as good as gone and if it weren’t for the airpower they’ve got, they’d have lost Sobrik months ago too.

“I give this place two weeks,” Foris comments, “and that’s cause I’m feeling generous.”

Gimrizh looks up from her newly acquired lightsaber, “I’m not an idiot. There’s no _way_ I’ll take that bet. I am hoping that they send a few more Jedi next time.”

Killing Jedi is the only productive thing they can do here, as Jedi can’t be made in a factory. “How was this guy?”

“A regrettable affair,” she remarks flatly. “At least I was victorious.”

The lightsaber is turned into scraps in a few minutes. Whatever pieces that she’s apparently considered valuable go into her pocket, a couple switches, some plating, a blue crystal. The rest is junk that she tosses into one of the appropriate crates. It’s an interesting process to watch, and makes cleaning the mud and blood off a blaster barrel go by faster, “Think Baras’ll keep us here another month?”

She shrugs, “I’m not lucky enough to know what my master’s plans are.”

“That’s fair. Cantina tonight?” he offers, “I owe Vette a drink.”

“Why not?” Gimrizh pauses and gives him a suspicious look, “Actually, she didn’t put you up to anything, did she?”

He’d call that paranoia, but that’d make him a hypocrite, “Not a thing.”

“Alright then,” she agrees.

The one thing in Balmorra’s favor is that the goals here are easy. Go here, blow something up, kill pubs. Sith politics are far more removed on this dead-end planet. Hells, Gimrizh has only reported to Baras once in the whole time they’ve been here, when normally she’s touching base with him as soon as something happens. It’s just been weeks and weeks of the same old, relatively insignificant work. All they’re really doing here is racking up a kill count.

~*~

Malavai knows it’s going to be a strange evening as soon as Vette corners him.

It’s either luck, or unusually careful planning on her part, that she blocks the engine room door just when he’s carrying an annoyingly heavy crate of parts. Parts that should really be installed as soon as possible. It isn’t as though _Horizon_ is going to be flying in the next few hours but leaving the ship’s engine working at only half-capacity is just not something he’s willing to do. Although, that’s a decision he might have to reconsider once he’s listened to whatever it is Vette has to say.

“We’re going to a cantina tonight!” she says in a chipper voice, her shoulder leaned against one side of the door panel, and her hand pressed against the other to create a barrier.

He gives her a cold look, “I believe you meant to say ‘ _you’re_ going to a cantina’.”

“Nope,” she bounces back, “ _We’re_ going to a cantina.”

Damn this crate is heavy. Maybe he can drop it on Vette’s feet. “I was under the impression that you rather disliked me. Why invite me when I am assuming that the rest of the crew will provide whatever company you want?”

She holds up a finger, “One, Jaesa asked. Two, I have my reasons.”

Somehow that doesn’t reassure him. Jaesa asking is a believable enough excuse, but he’s justifiably suspicious of any plot that Vette comes up with, “That doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence. I regret that I’ll have to decline. Actually no, I don’t regret it at all. Now if you wouldn’t mind moving?”

Vette doesn’t budge, “If you don’t come, then who’s going to make sure I don’t sneak stronger and stronger alcohol into Gimrizh’s drinks?”

“You wouldn’t.” It’s probably an empty threat. Probably.

“How can you be sure unless you tag along?” she asks, grinning from ear to ear.

If she applied this sort of vicious manipulation to military matters, she’d be a force to be reckoned with. “Fine,” he reluctantly agrees, “If only for Lord Gimrizh’s sake. _Now_ would please you move?”

She slides out of the way, “Sure thing! We’ll be heading out in a few minutes, so don’t be late! Oh, and no uniform either! You know, part of having fun and all that. You do know the meaning of the word ‘fun’, right?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” he mutters, finally putting the crate down on a work table, “I do own a dictionary, Vette.”

“Nerd!” she laughs. She practically skips down the hall, irritatingly self-satisfied by her victory.

If he weren’t certain that it would make her twice as annoying, he’d consider just skipping the thing entirely. In general though, he’s learned that with Vette, sometimes it’s easier just to go along with her foolishness, especially if it doesn’t seem particularly harmful. He does have to wonder what her reasons are. Probably a bet of some sort. She and Pierce seem to jump at any excuse to exchange credits.

The new sets of power couplings are installed and he runs a few tests on the engines to make sure everything is functioning optimally. It’s a shame _Horizon_ hasn’t flown in over a month. Letting the ship languish away in the spaceport, doing nothing while they too get nothing done. He understands Gimrizh’s reasoning for requesting the temporary assignment to Balmorra, but that doesn’t mean he hates this planet any less.

Engines fixed, he returns to his bunk and changes his shirt to a non-regulation equivalent. The lieutenant has left his durasteel armor scattered all over his space, so at least Vette is enforcing her will upon the entire crew.

Vette gives him a thumbs up when he joins her in the entrance way, “This is going to go great!”

“You have some sort of plan, don’t you?” he asks, glaring at her.

She grins, “You’ll thank me eventually.”

That’s when Jaesa bounces in. In an unusual change, she’s not carrying her lightsaber. She beams at them, “Good evening!” She pauses and looks carefully at the two of them, “I’ve interrupted something, haven’t I?”

“It’s a secret,” Vette says with a wink.

So whatever it is that she’s planning isn’t something that she’s going to share with Jaesa. Good to know. At least, knowing Vette, it’s probably something relatively minor and not actually anything to seriously worry about. There _is_ a war going on. Comparatively, Vette’s pranks aren’t much of a problem to deal with.

“So,” Pierce asks, Gimrizh trailing behind him, “got a place picked out?”

“Yep. Serves the best vodka you can find off Corellia,” Vette replies.

As they head through Sobrik, apparently following Vette to wherever she’s going, Malavai drops back to walk next to Gimrizh.

“My lord, is it just me, or is Vette up to something?” he asks quietly.

Gimrizh sighs and rubs at her temples, her fingers pressing into the base of one of her horns, “Oh, she is. Please, _please_ don’t listen to anything she says. She’s just trying to cause trouble, as per usual.”

That’s pretty much what he expected. He’ll assume that since Gimrizh is aware and hasn’t done anything about it, that whatever Vette’s planning is ultimately not disastrous. If he needed to know, she would tell him.

The place Vette’s picked out is a large officer’s cantina, filled to the brim with people in various stages of inebriation. Malavai’s pretty certain that he’s been here before during his previous posting on this damn planet. Definitely been here before. He recognizes the busted up dejarik table in the back. It wasn’t as though he spent much time hanging around the cantina’s here. He’s never been one for drinking in the same way that Vette or Pierce are.

Pierce and Jaesa claim a large table in the back while Vette goes to get drinks.

“Sabacc?” Gimrizh asks him, placing her deck on the table, “I’ve been getting better at it.”

It would be difficult for her to get _worse_ at the game. He takes the stack of cards and deals, “No credits.”

“That’s a pain,” Pierce comments as he picks up his own hand and surveys the cards he’s been given, “Since I’m apparently paying the tab tonight, I was hoping I could earn some of that back.”

Gimrizh puts the first card into play, “I’d rather not end the evening without a single credit to my name, thanks.”

“I believe in you, master,” Jaesa says, quickly taking the card out of the playing field and putting her own down. “I’m certain that you can succeed.”

Vette puts down a tray of drinks, “I’m not.” She slides into a chair and picks up her cards, “Boss, it’s _cute_ how you think you can play sabacc. And you’re right, if we were betting, I’d clear you out in an hour or less.”

“Rude,” Gimrizh remarks, taking a sip of some pale red drink, “What am I drinking?”

“Something called a Red Mando,” Vette informs her, passing out drinks for the table, “Jaesa, I got you one of those lime mixed things you like. Captain stuffy, you strike me as a scotch sort of guy, and Pierce,” she slides a bright day-glo pink glass over to the lieutenant, complete with a pastel paper umbrella stuck on top and glittery sugar around the rim.

Pierce laughs, “Damn. You really know your stuff.” He puts a card down and then takes a swig of the pink thing, plucking the umbrella out of the glass first, “Well played, kid.”

“I always nail it,” she says, draining her shot glass, “Now play a card that isn’t a damn face card please.”

They play through the first round, which Jaesa, surprisingly, wins by a three point margin. Vette orders a second round of drinks for herself and Pierce, and they keep playing, this time with Jaesa as dealer. Although Malavai isn’t in the habit of slandering Lord Gimrizh, she really is a poor player, and hasn’t improved much.

She’s only half-focused on the game, and has, at some point, acquired Pierce’s miniature umbrella. She twirls the decoration between her fingers, not noticing when cards that she should need are added to the field. There’s a barely noticeable frown on her lips. Clearly, her mind is elsewhere. Malavai doesn’t realize that he’s been too distracted by watching her until the lieutenant wins the next round.

As the game progresses, he begins to notice that whatever plot Vette’s concocted, she’s beginning to implement it. It’s apparently directed at Gimrizh. Every other minute, Vette’s either nudging Gimrizh or whispering something to her. Gimrizh’s all too frequent glares are doing nothing to stop her.

“-if you get drunk enough,” Vette’s muttering. Malavai has to strain to catch it, but he clearly heard that last part.

Gimrizh tosses a card into play and replies under her breath, “I already said no.” In a louder voice, she continues, “Your move, Pierce.”

“Right,” he thinks and then snags a card out of the field.

“Show hands, everyone,” Jaesa says, placing her cards on the table, face up.

Vette wins the round with a negative twenty-three. She reaches across the table to fist-bump Pierce while Gimrizh grumbles into her drink. While Vette is distracted, Gimrizh uses the force to snag Vette’s shot of vodka and finishes off the glass herself before sliding it back across the table as if it had never moved. Malavai tries not to laugh - he doesn’t want to ruin her retribution.

When Vette sits back down, she looks at her empty glass in confusion.

Gimrizh hands over her own empty glass, “Why don’t _you_ buy the next round?”

“Sneaky Sith,” Vette says teasingly, but grabs the glasses all the same.

When she stands up, she bangs her shoulder into an officer who happens to be walking past. His drink falls out of his hand and the transparisteel shatters on the floor.

“Oh shit,” Vette swears, “My bad. Sorry, man, I’ll buy you a refill.”

The man glares at her, “The fuck do you think you’re doing here? Getting in decent people’s way like an animal.”

And that’s one pleasant evening ruined. This isn’t going to end well. Malavai gets a glimpse of the man’s rank badge just to make sure that Vette doesn’t murder anyone important. The man’s just a private, thankfully.

“Excuse me?” Vette snaps back, “The fuck? I _said_ I was sorry.”

The private pokes a finger at her, “I mean to say, I don’t fight in this krething war so that some rat-tailed bitch gets to party while decent fucking people get killed.” He notices Lord Gimrizh as well, and adds, “Fucking sub-humans like you should go back to where you came from. Go back to the krething Republic.”

Gimrizh slowly stands up, “Say that to my face.”

He turns around and repeats, “I said you’re a force-damned waste of space that needs to go back to the sub-human loving Republic. Now what are you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing,” she replies, grinning sharper than a vibroknife, “I just wanted you to face me so she could get behind you.”

Vette slams her shot glass in the back of the man’s head, his eyes roll back in his sockets, and he drops, pieces of transparisteel clattering to the ground.

“That felt good,” Vette remarks, “Should do it more often.”

The entire cantina is suddenly focused on them. A number of the private’s cohorts are making their way over even as Vette gloats.

“My lord,” Malavai says quietly, regretting that he hadn’t brought a blaster. Actually, no one in the crew is armed. Not even the lieutenant brought a weapon. “I believe we’re about to have a bit more company.”

She cracks her knuckles, “What a shame.”

One of the men tries to punch Vette while she’s distracted. Two seconds before the blow connects, Jaesa tackles the guy.

“For fuck’s sake,” Pierce mutters.

It gets annoyingly crowded after that. Malavai ducks a punch, grabs the man’s arm and pins him to the table before knocking him out with a blow to the side of the head.

Someone tries to hit Pierce with a bar stool, but the chair just breaks on the lieutenant’s back and the assailant gets a punch to the gut. Vette starts beating up someone who had the misfortune to get in a lucky punch at Jaesa. Behind them, Pierce grabs a length of wood from the ruined chair and tosses it at Gimrizh, who uses it to whack someone in the head like she’s wielding a lightsaber.

While she’s looking the other way, one of the attackers tries to hit her. Without really thinking about it, Malavai punches him in the face.

A moment later, the man snaps back with a hit that Malavai doesn’t quite dodge. The metallic tang of blood fills his mouth and he lifts a hand up to find that his lower lip has been split. The man must have been wearing a ring or something similar. He spits out a mouthful of blood.

There’s a hiss of energy.

“That’s one move too many,” Gimrizh says coldly, the red beam of her lightsaber pointing straight towards the man’s throat. Apparently Malavai hadn’t noticed her carrying her lightsaber under her jacket. Well, at least _one_ of them had the foresight to bring a weapon.

The bright red glare of the blade causes the whole cantina to freeze. Even drunk Imperials know better than to cross a Sith.

Pierce hits one last person before the fight has effectively ground to a complete halt. Across the table, Jaesa helps Vette to her feet and casts a worried look at her master.

The poor man who finds himself on the end of her lightsaber holds his hand up in surrender, “Shit - You’re a Sith. I’m out.”

Her blade doesn’t move.

“My lord,” Malavai hesitantly places a hand over her wrist, unsure what else to add. He’s not going to say anything in front of others, but killing an Imperial officer for what amounts to a minor, alcohol induced, bar fight is just pointless. It accomplishes nothing and they’ve already lost a lot of soldiers to the Republic.

She glances up at him and the anger fades from her eyes. “I suppose it’s your lucky day,” she says to the man, lowering her lightsaber, “Run along.”

He books it, followed by half the people left in the cantina.

Once the place has cleared out, Gimrizh deactivates her lightsaber, “Are you alright?” She seems unduly concerned for what amounts to a very mild injury, “You’re bleeding.”

He dabs at his lip with the edge of his sleeve. It’s already starting to clot. A bit of kolto will repair the skin and it’ll be fixed. Mostly it just stings a little. He’s had far worse. Did she almost kill that man _because_ he got hit? He appreciates the sentiment, although it’s a bit of an overreaction. “It’s nothing, my lord,” he assures her.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” she replies. For someone who’s easily a solid seven inches shorter than he is, she’s very good at staring people down.

“Just go grab some damn kolto and stop whining, boss,” Vette complains.

Gimrizh glares at her, “I am not _whining_ ,” she pauses, “What are you doing?”

“A girl’s gotta make money,” she sings, kneeling on the floor and rummaging through the pockets of the original instigator. She pulls out his wallet and starts to thumb through the contents, pulling out credit chips and bank cards. “He’s an asshole, he deserves it.” She tosses a few flimsy holos away, “He can keep the pics though.”

Gimrizh puts her hands on her hips, “Was this your intention all along - theft?”

“What? No. I’m just doing something that makes me happy,” she grins, “That give you any ideas?”

“You’re-” Gimrizh drops her sentence. Apparently having had enough of Vette, she storms out of the cantina.

Pierce sits down on a corner of the table and downs the rest of his drink, “Always nice to get a bit of local color,” he remarks.

“I could have done without the racism,” Vette replies. Finished with the wallet, she drops it on the guy’s forehead. She glances up at Malavai and huffs, “Oh come on, aren’t you going to run after her? Do I have to do _everything_ myself?”

He picks up Gimrizh’s deck of cards, making sure that none of the set is missing. Gimrizh has definitely been more distracted than usual, and part of that has to do with whatever agenda Vette’s been pushing. He stares coolly at Vette, “What point are you trying to prove to Lord Gimrizh?” he asks.

Vette gives him a knowing look, “Go ask her yourself.”

“Fine.” He leaves the cantina, stepping over someone with a broken arm on the way.

It’s well past sunset outside. The sky isn’t completely dark, the energy shield above Sobrik forms a shell of dull light around the city. That and the smoke from the surrounding mountains turns the city a flat, bleak grey. Even the star destroyer defending the city from low atmo is murky and hard to make out. He has not missed Balmorra.

Lord Gimirzh is nowhere in sight. It’s impossible to see the stars from anywhere in the city, otherwise he might have had to try looking for her on the rooftops. Instead, he heads back to the spaceport.

As predicted, she’s in _Horizon’s_ bridge, sitting in the captain’s chair and absently messing with a lightsaber cross section.

“I apologize,” she says as soon as he enters, “I shouldn’t have started that fight. It was petty of me. And you’re right, it’s a waste of energy to fight our own when the Republic is trying to flatten Sobrik.”

He pulls his chair over and sits down next to her, “My lord, I think you had every right after what that private said to you.”

“He called me a pub,” she laughs, “What an idiot.”

Actually he would have thought the man’s racism had been more offensive, but perhaps he’s just spent too much time listening to Vette. Besides, he’s pretty sure Gimrizh barely even noticed the man’s offensive comments to her species, as she’d only confronted him after he’d told her to go back to the Republic. Is _that_ the point Vette has been unsubtly attempting to make? Something to do with speciesism?

“Forgive me for asking, but are things alright between you and Vette?” He’s used to the two of them occasionally squabbling, but this is different somehow.

“It’s fine,” she says quickly. Far too quickly for him to believe it.

So he just replies, “Of course, my lord,” and doesn’t press the issue. If it’s something she’s decided he needs to know, then she’ll tell him.

“She’s just trying to prove a point, only she’s an idiot and it’s none of her business,” Gimrizh hesitates and looks down at the parts she’s holding. She frowns at one of the pieces, holding it up to the light to examine it, “What point is Baras trying to prove?”

He tenses up at the mention of Darth Baras, “What makes you think he’s trying to prove something?”

She gestures to the viewport, and by extension, their surroundings, “I didn’t ask to be placed on Balmorra, I wouldn’t have done - All I asked Baras for was a posting to the front lines. I had assumed Hoth, or Quesh, or maybe Corellia, not here. We’ve _lost_ Balmorra. We’ve been here for a month and we’ve achieved _nothing_. We won’t get this planet back until we get their factories, and that’s not happening anytime soon. All we’re doing is holding Sobrik.”

“It’s an Imperial City,” he reminds her, “We can’t afford to abandon it.”

“I know, I’m not questioning the logic of retaining the city, but why _me_? In the past, he’s used me as a targeted weapon - infiltrate and assassinate. I’m not particularly suited for brute force combat or tactical command. I thought he’d place me in the best possible location for me to utilize my abilities,” she explains.

While he does think she’s underestimating herself, he has to agree that posting her on Balmorra is a poor use of resources. _Horizon’_ s crew is a strike team, in essence. “You’d serve the Empire better elsewhere,” he agrees, “and Darth Baras knows it. He’s most certainly not an idiot, so this placement can’t be an accident.”

“He would only put me here to make a point,” she reiterates. “Only I can’t see what it is and I’ve been trying to figure it out since I got here.”

It’s a reminder, he thinks. Despite her promotion to lord, she is still in many ways one of Baras’ agents. Baras certainly sees her as such. Sending her to a place where she is wasted as a military resource is making a point about control, that he still controls her. But why Balmorra? While Malavai hates this planet with a passion, Gimrizh spent only a few days here before and didn’t have a strong opinion either for or against the planet.

No, while Baras might be using a poor assignment to illustrate his control over Gimrizh, he’s using Balmorra to do the same to Malavai. It’s certainly a clear message. ‘I pulled you out of here, and I can put you back’. He supposes that after the operation to rescue Gimrizh, Baras felt that the message needed to be reinforced.

At the end of the day, no matter what they do for the Empire, no matter the rank they achieve, Baras will always have power over them.

“Darth Baras has the good of the Empire in mind,” he says, “I am sure that this assignment is not a complete waste of resources.”

She pushes the lightsaber parts to the side and tugs her knees up to her chest, “It’s not my place to say what Baras’ goals are. If he wants to make a point to me by placing me here, then I need to listen to him.”

Of course, she thinks that she deserves some sort of punishment as a result of her recent capture, which she views a failure. “My lord, you haven’t failed.”

“Neither have you,” she replies, her defensiveness a clear sign that his assessment was accurate, “I know how much you hate Balmorra.”

Only he _has_ failed, he just isn’t sure how. Baras is, as expected, punishing him because he’s failed to submit a report on the Maelstrom incident for months now. It’s not necessary, there’s nothing for him _to_ report, but is that failure? Or is his failure to Lord Gimrizh instead? Spying on her for Baras had been so easy when they first met. He didn’t know her and he’d spent the last ten years of his life working under Baras. It had only been logical to do as Baras ordered.

It’s different now, although it shouldn’t be. He wants to know more and more about her, not because Baras is demanding it, but because he _wants_ to. That should be a problem. That _is_ a problem. He’s supposed to be on her crew as Baras’ agent only he hasn’t reported in months and every time he sends back information there’s less and less to send.

“Balmorra is a dead end planet,” he says bitterly.

There’s a look in her eyes that he can’t quite figure out, “You were wasted here,” she tells him.

He doesn’t deserve her compassion. Doesn’t deserve _her_. He stands and gives her a stiff, formal bow, “Thank you for saying so, my lord. Please excuse me.”

“Of course,” she says, “Good night, Quinn.”

~*~

Vette reads over the short message from Tivva for the billionth time.

_Found a lead on Mother. Need two hundred thousand. Can Sith help?_

“Hypothetical question,” she says, wincing at the thought of getting her hands on that kind of money, “and it’s only kinda hypothetical, but could you ask her Sithyness to borrow two hundred thousand credits?”

Jaesa chokes on her cup of caff. Carefully, she puts the mug down on the countertop and leans over the kitchen counter to blink at Vette, “Why do you need two hundred thousand credits? Wait - why am _I_ the one to ask my master? She’d have no problem giving you the money, and it’s not as though I’m needed as an intermediary.”

“Normally, yeah,” Vette admits, “but uh… I don’t think now is the best time for me to be asking her any favors. She’s a bit pissed off at me, to be honest.”

“Yes, I think I’ve picked up on that,” she remarks, giving Vette a slightly disappointed look, “I did tell you that meddling in her affairs wouldn’t work out. If she’s annoyed with you, then it’s because you pushed her when she wasn’t ready.”

Ugh, she hates it when Jaesa gives her that look. She doesn’t like letting Jaesa down. “I _know_ ,” she grumbles, “You’re right.”

Jaesa smiles, a tiny quirk of her mouth, but no less dazzling, “I’m not angry with you, really. But perhaps you should apologize to my master when you get the chance.”

“Okay,” Vette pouts, “fine. Even if she’s still being stupid.”

“That’s good. So what do you need the credits for?” Jaesa asks, returning to a subject that Vette’s much more willing to talk about.

Vette pulls up the message on her holo, “To find my mom.”

Jaesa reads the entire thing twice and then looks up at Vette with all seriousness, “You don’t need my master’s help, you know. I have money.”

Of course Jaesa has money but Vette would _never_ ask for it. Shared finances implies a certain level of intimacy that she wouldn’t presume. She doesn’t want Jaesa to think that just because they’re together, she’s obligated to hand over large sums of credits. Asking Gimrizh is safer, because it’s a sibling relationship, where sharing money is implied and more common. Besides, she tells herself that since she _technically_ works for Gimrizh, she’s paying her back for the money by being an awesome addition to the crew.

“I -” Vette flounders, “I mean -”

Jaesa reaches over the counter to wrap her hands around Vette’s, “It’s a gift. You won’t owe me anything for it. What else would I do with the money, really? It isn’t as though there’s anything I need that my master doesn’t already provide.”

“You’re the greatest ever, you know that right?” Vette says, starting to babble, “Absolutely the best damn person I’ve ever met, okay, like I would _never_ have asked you for it and you just-”

She grabs the front of Jaesa’s shirt and tugs her in for a kiss before saying something really stupid.

Jaesa’s redder than an early sunrise by the time they pull apart. She opens her mouth to say something and then the main holo starts to beep.

“Ugh,” Vette complains. Honestly, if it’s Fuckface McMask Baras she’s going to just turn the call off and let Gimrizh handle it. He wanted to send them off to boring-ass Balmorra, she’s not going to give him the time of day.

Jaesa looks sympathetic, but sort of gently herds Vette out of the kitchen and into the main room.

The holo is still beeping after Vette takes the call. “Huh?” she frowns at the terminal and gives it a good kick, “Connect, you dumb thing!”

“Why isn’t it working?” Jaesa asks, pressing the button on the screen repeatedly.

Vette takes another look at the insanely long comm number and comes to a strange realization, “I think the signal’s encoded. Someone doesn’t want anyone else listening in.” She starts trying to slice into the thing anyways, “I think maybe this would be a good time to get the boss on the line. We’re in a bit over our heads.”

“I agree,” Jaesa replies. She closes her eyes and goes silent for a moment. The force is weird, but hey. If it works. “She’s on her way. I er - interrupted a military briefing.”

Part of the code is obvious, but a few lines are giving her trouble, “Whoops,” Vette comments, not really meaning it, “Military briefings are dull as dirt anyways, and it’s not like she actually can do something productive on this shitty planet. Probably gave her a good excuse to ditch. She should thank us for it.”

“I don’t think that’s likely,” Jaesa replies.

Half the thing is ready to go, she just needs to finish it up and then the call can connect, unless whoever encoded this thing in the first place is a complete idiot, “I said ‘should’ not ‘would’. Ah-hah!” she cries triumphantly, slicing into the last section, “Got it!”

“Don’t you think that maybe we should wait for my master to get back?” Jaesa proposes.

Vette shrugs. It’s not like waiting a few minutes will change much. She grins and presses the button, “Too late!”

The code runs through the terminal and the holo comes to life, an image of some old guy in an Imperial uniform appearing in the holo field.

“Who the hell are you?” Vette asks, trying to remember if they’ve ever run into this guy before and just pulling up blanks. She’s never seen him, and since she’s been with Gimrizh since the damn beginning, it means they’ve never met him.

The man looks very confused, “Who are you? How did you decipher this code? I’ve been trying to send this to the Interceptor _Horizon_ , what’s going on?”

“First, I’m Vette, the one and the only,” she says, giving a sarcastic two fingered salute, “Second, your code is nice, but I’m a better slicer than you are. And this _is_ _Horizon_ so congrats, you didn’t fuck up too badly. Do you need to talk to Gimrizh or something? Cause if you’re looking for a Sith, you’re in the right place.”

This does not seem to clear things up for him, “Lord Korribanil? No, I’m not trying to reach her, I need to speak with Captain Quinn.”

“The captain is on his way here too,” Jaesa informs them, “My master is entering the spaceport now and I’ve passed the message on to her.”

“You in some kind of trouble?” Vette asks.

The man glances over his shoulder at something out of the holo’s range, “There’s a state of emergency right now. We need some kind of help or else the Republic’s going to run us over.”

Maybe he’s a few power converters short of a hyperdrive, “And you’re asking _Quinn_ for help instead of stabby-killy Gimrizh? Dude. You _need_ to sort out your priorities.”

“I don’t think I can trust a Sith in my position,” the man explains. There’s a burst of static on his end before the feed returns, “Sorry, one of the blasted transceivers got blown off the mountainside. I’m running the call the local way, in case anyone tries to listen in on your side.”

“That’s a lot of paranoia you got there,” Vette idly comments.

“It’s warranted,” he assures her.

Footsteps echo through the main hatch of the ship and a moment later, the last three members of the crew enter the room. Gimrizh has a stack of datapads under her arm and Vette’s ninety percent sure that if she didn’t have those tattoos, there’d be massive dark circles under her eyes.

Quinn immediately heads over to the holo, “Major Ovech?”

“Malavai Quinn, you are a sight for sore eyes,” Ovech says, “Sorry to drag you back into this mess, but I’ve got no one else to turn to. Someone or something blew our cover. The Republic found where we were hiding out. The weapons research station is under attack and we’re trapped inside the damn thing. We’re holed up, surrounded by Republic forces. Tried to get Broysc to send back up but he’s gone radio silent.”

“What about the rest of the unit?” Quinn hurriedly asks, more worried than Vette’s seen him in a long time. “The space station over Cato Neimoidia should be able to provide reinforcements.”

Ovech swears, “It’s worse than that. I was up there too until a few days ago. Broysc sent everyone who could fight planetside.”

“Wait,” Gimrizh steps in, “I thought the Cato Neimoidia station was defended by squads of fighter ships, not ground troops. That’s why…”

Clearly, Vette’s missed something, because Quinn is white as a sheet and Gimrizh suddenly looks a bit ill. Ovech nods grimly, “You’re right. We’re not designed for a ground attack, but we got sent down here anyways. I’m sorry. Lucian’s stuck down here too. He was the one who gave me this frequency.”

“Thank you, Major,” Quinn says stiffly, “I’m on my way.”

Ovech lets out a sigh of relief, “I’ll send over the station’s schematics. It’s all I’ve got. Good luck.”

The call drops.

Hold the fuck up. Vette feels like she heard half a conversation there. Pierce coughs to get everyone’s attention, “Don’t mean to ask the obvious, but what the hell’s a ‘Lucian’?”

“My brother,” Quinn replies, and it says a good deal about the seriousness of the situation that he doesn’t so much as glare at Pierce for that comment. “He’s a pilot assigned to Major Ovech’s detail, and he’s certainly not supposed to be fighting on the ground.”

Vette blinks, “You have a brother?”

A sharp look from Gimrizh cuts off the rest of her statement, “Vette,” she orders, “Program a course to Cato Neimoidia and close up the ship. Pierce, I want everything we need from the hangar bay inside the ship as soon as you can, take Toovee to help you and then power him down. Jaesa, I need you to contact command and let them know that we’re leaving.”

“My lord,” Quinn interrupts, “This is my responsibility, I can take a shuttle to Cato Neimoidia from here, infiltrate the research station and-”

She crosses her arms, “And take on the Republic alone? Not going to happen.”

“I have the schematics,” he quietly and politely argues, “It’s unnecessary to risk anyone else on this mission.”

“Too bad. I’m not going to let you go off and get killed.” He’s about to protest before she takes a single step forward and states, “That’s an order.”

Vette watches the exchange with bated breath, some small part of her hoping that maybe her idiot boss will _finally_ say something, but no. It doesn’t go that way. Quinn backs down.

“Then you all have your orders,” Gimrizh says to the rest of them, “Quinn, with me. I don’t know what I’m doing and we need to figure out the best way to minimize casualties. Vette, we’re leaving as soon as you’ve got the nav-computer ready.”

“Got it, boss!” Vette grabs Jaesa’s hand and drags her onto the bridge.

Time for another adventure. Balmorra was getting boring anyways.

~*~

It’s only a few hours from Balmorra to Cato Neimoidia, but it feels like days to Gimrizh as she pours over the station’s schematics and maps of the planet’s surface. A thread of worry constricts her chest, her fingers tugging nervously on the edges of her synthleather tabard or running through her hair. It’s worse for Quinn. She knows that this sort of stress is the kind he’s the worst at dealing with. For someone like him, who’s constantly striving for control and information, this mission is a disaster.

They know almost nothing about what they’re walking into. All they have is the layout of the station and a vague idea of where the trapped Imperial forces are located. They don’t know anything about where the Republic is or how many enemies they’re up against. They don’t know what’s going to change between when they received this information and when they arrive. To make it all worse, she can tell Quinn is worried out of his mind about Lucian’s safety. Pilots aren’t meant to participate in a ground assault, and since the station had been relying on their ability to counter via aerial defence, there aren’t many troopers to protect the base.

“Can’t land here,” Pierce says, drawing a radius around the station with his finger, before switching to a map of the terrain, “Some good places lower down. If the station’s at the top of this spire, then we can land at surface level and fight our way up.”

At least the lieutenant and Quinn are finally speaking to each other without attempting murder. “It’s highly unlikely that the Republic won’t have a ship defending the ground forces from aerial assault. Their sensors will register our approach and shoot us out of the sky.” Quinn points to the base of the station tower, a natural rock formation like most of the planet’s surface. “If we intend to land here, we’d need to go undetected.”

“ _Horizon_ doesn’t have any cloaking tech,” Gimrizh reminds them, “We’ll need to find somewhere else to land.”

“No need,” Quinn explains, “We can fly in low and cut the engines once we’re within range. From there, we can glide to a landing.”

Pierce looks resentfully impressed, “If you can do that without crashing the ship, then yeah.”

“Of course I can,” he replies, offended.

“So we land at the base, here,” Gimrizh summarizes, running her finger through the blue haze of the holo projector, “We’d have two ways in then. We could fight our way through the main hangar bays to the central elevator, then up to the eastern section where the personnel are trapped. Or we could take the service shafts, even though they’re designed for droids, not people.”

Quinn frowns at the map, thinking over the options, “Or we could take both routes. Send a team through the shafts to the eastern lab that would evacuate the personnel to the hangar bay while the second team enters through the front to clear a path.”

“Sounds like a great way to get everyone killed,” Pierce comments, “We don’t know how many pubs are crawling over this station, and we’d be leading a bunch of noncombatants, techs and pilots, to a kill zone. Three or four people can’t guarantee safety for that many people. Of course, if you decide that there are acceptable casualties for this operation, then yeah, we could do it your way.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Quinn snaps, “We need a way to prevent Republic reinforcements from reaching the hangar bay after it’s been cleared then. That’s the only viable way to evacuate the facility.”

A research station of this size must have some sort of defences. The personnel used the station’s energy shields to blockade a wing of the building, which, while effectively trapping them, might work in another way. “Wouldn’t there be some sort of shielding around the hangar bay?” she suggests, “If we could slice into the system and block the hangar bay off from the rest of the station, then we could clear out that section and use it to evacuate.”

He takes another look, “That’s… a very good idea, my lord. There must be terminals on the upper levels that can control the station’s defences.”

“Then the team going through the shafts will need to also slice into the system,” Pierce says, “No way the team securing the hangar bay will have the time.”

They’ll need three people for the frontal assault, and she’s certain that Quinn will want to reach his brother as soon as possible. “So the second team will be you,” she tells him, “and… well… Vette _is_ the best fit for the situation.”

Quinn reluctantly agrees, “That does make the most tactical sense, I suppose.”

“Alright, then me, Pierce, and Jaesa will clear out the hangar bay, while you start the evacuation,” she recaps, trying to think of what else they’re overlooking, “Is there anything else?”

Vette ducks her head around the corner to yell, “Ten minutes till we leave hyperspace!”

“Guess there _isn’t_ anything else,” Pierce shrugs and makes his way to the weapons cabinet in the cargo bay, “See you in ten.”

Gimrizh stares at the map, then downloads the files to her own datapad just in case. This might be one of the most high-stakes mission that she’s undertaken yet. In the grand scheme of things, one weapons research station means little to the Empire. But it’s different, it’s not just a casualty if it’s Lucian. She _likes_ Lucian, he’s a good person, he certainly doesn’t deserve to be killed by the Republic, and she knows it would _ruin_ Quinn.

There’s no need for her to prepare for a fight, she’s already carrying her lightsabers. Instead, she follows Quinn into the medbay.

The door slides shut behind her and she lingers at the edge of the room, uncertain of what exactly she can do or say. There’s little she can do to reassure him, they both know that this’ll be risky.

Quinn’s controlled, even as she can see the anxiety that’s rolling in him. He carefully clips his medical belt across his chest, double checking the contents of each pouch before sorting through one of the cabinets.

“We’re going to do everything we can,” she tells him quietly, “You know that.”

He drums his fingers against the counter as he counts out kolto patches, and it says a lot about how nervous he is that he’s letting her catch any of his tells. “I know, my lord. Unfortunately, even with preparation and determination, there’s still a good deal that can go wrong.”

“You’re right,” she agrees, “There’s no guarantee. But the odds favor us. The Republic doesn’t know we’re coming. We have a detailed plan. I think we have the best crew.”

“Thank you for saying so, my lord,” he replies and it’s obvious her words have done nothing.

She reaches out and gently lays a hand on his shoulder, “I understand, I do. It feels like everything you do isn’t good enough. As if no matter how hard you try things will still… still go wrong. Like there’s nothing you can do to keep people safe, even people that you…”

“Yes, I suppose you do know what it feels like.” He rests his hand over hers and sighs, “I _knew_ Broysc was dangerous. I’ve known for _years_. I should have done something about him a long time ago, I had a decade to take him down and I did nothing. When I was court-martialed after Druckenwell, I promised myself that I wouldn’t let Lucian be dragged down by my own mistakes. I should have seen this coming.”

If he helped her confront what she did to Yaina, the least she can do is offer him the same comfort. “I’d tell you that you’re wrong, but that would make me a hypocrite. Maybe there was something you could have done, maybe not. Will you ever know? As much as I wish it were otherwise, there’s no way to go back in time to find out. There’s no productivity in thinking about how to change the past.”

“The point of reflection is to learn from past mistakes - I didn’t and I can't act as though it was a failing on my part,” he says.

She wishes there was more she could do. “If it’s any consolation, I’ll always be here to help.”

“Thank you, my lord,” he takes her hand and bows, “You are more than I deserve.”

 _You don’t need to earn me_ , she thinks, _I’m already yours._ And like she has done a thousand times before and will do a thousand times again, she keeps her silence. It would only make things worse and this just proves it. Quinn has enough to deal with already without her dragging her problems into his life.

“Don’t you have a ship to not-crash?” she jokes, trying to push her feelings down and get back to the situation at hand.

He nods and heads out of the med bay, “I assure you, I will do my utmost to land _Horizon_ safely.”

As soon as they reach the bridge, Jaesa leaps out of the pilot’s chair with a look of relief and surrenders her position to Quinn. Pierce is already working to power down non-essential functions so that they can go dark as soon as possible. Gimrizh takes the helm and tries not to break something out of anxiety.

“Good of you to join us at last, cap’n stuffy, Sithyness,” Vette chimes, “I’m pulling our baby out of hyperspace now.”

The white and blue streaks of light that blur in front of the viewport snap into focus as the blue and green of Cato Neimoidia looms in front of them. They’re approaching the planet much faster than usual.

“Jaesa?” Gimrizh asks, “Any Jedi for us to contend with?”

She closes her eyes for a few minutes, her force signature moving from a buzzing field to calm water. Once they entered the atmosphere, her eyes snap open and she shakes her head. “No, master. There are a few force users in civilian settlements around the planet, but few that are trained, and none that would be a threat. Of those signatures, not a single one is within a hundred kilometers of the weapons station. There won’t be a problem.”

That’s one problem solved.

 _Horizon_ plunges through the planet’s thick cloud layer. Much of Cato Neimoidia’s surface is covered with towering mountains and rocky spires as tall as spacescrapers. The research station is far away from any cities, allowing them to go for a hard burn through the sky to build up the necessary speed.

“Cut the power in five,” Quinn says.

Vette flips a switch with a grin on her face, “We’re going dark? Always wanted to try that.”

A hum vibrates through the ship as every system that can be detected shuts down. The lights flicker off, leaving only the natural sunlight from outside to see by. The engines shut off and she can feel the ship sink a good deal faster than before. But they’re still speeding towards the station and Quinn’s got both hands on the controls, guiding the ship around the rocky spires using only the manual steering instead of engaging the sublight drive.

The station comes up on the viewport, a massive durasteel facility built into the side of one of the rock formations. A series of small landing bays dot the base and a small Republic vessel is moored at the top of the spire. She prays it doesn’t notice them. They’re still about a kilometer too high up, but they’re dropping quickly and losing speed.

It feels like they hit a wall as the air vents on the hull pop open, creating enough drag to slow the ship down as they approach.

 _Horizon_ skids into one of the massive, retro-fitted caves, the friction killing their speed just enough to let the ship stop a mere couple of inches away from slamming into the back wall.

“Whoo!” Vette cheers, turning to high-five Jaesa.

Gimrizh releases her death grip on the chair arms and slowly gets to her feet. They might have made it past an air strike, but they’ve still got a station full of pubs to contend with and they didn’t have the quietest of landings. “We won’t go unnoticed for long and we need to put our plan into action.”

The landing bay is deserted when they exit the ship, though it won’t be for long. When she dips into the force she can sense hostile presences approaching, although she can’t tell how far away or how many.

“Jaesa,” Pierce says, pointing at her with his thumb, “You’re with us. Vette, with Quinn.”

Gimrizh rips the main landing bay door open with a blast of force power. “Get to work everyone. Comm if the plan changes and keep yourselves safe.”

They break, Vette and Quinn running down one of the service halls and the three of them moving into the station through the front door.

As soon as her team passes through the wreck of metal that used to be the landing bay door, she pulls it up with the force and slams it back into shape, creating a barrier that only a force user or someone with enough explosives to take out the entire station could get past. That should keep _Horizon_ out of the line of fire and leave their escape route open.

Pierce checks the schematics holo as they head up the elevator to the central hangar bay, their main objective for this mission. “Should be this floor,” he tells them.

They reach a foyer with a number of lifts leading to different sections of the station, a sliding metal door between them and the main hangar bay.

“They know we’re here,” Jaesa says, her hand on her lightsaber, “We have a few seconds before they open the door and I think they’re going to toss a grenade first, to try and blow us out.”

Pierce knocks a supply crate over for cover and sets his blaster rifle on his shoulder, using the crate as a support for the barrel. “This is a good place to hold out. Make ‘em come through here, like a funnel. Easier for us and they can’t get the drop on us with a mob.”

The door slams open, Gimrizh throws her hand out, and the grenade explodes on the other side of the barrier.

A group of pub soldiers die in a burst of fire and smoke.

Seconds later, there’s another squad opening fire on them, battle cries filling the air followed by the burning acrid smell of blaster bolts.

She draws both her lightsabers and gets to work.

~*~

“I can’t believe you never told me you had a brother!” Vette complains as they climb up one of the service shafts. She’s a few rungs on the ladder above Malavai which makes her commentary far more annoying. He can see every time she flaps her hands around like she’s doing now, “You know that _I_ have a sister, how come I never knew this?”

“Because I didn’t feel the need to inform you,” he replies. With one hand still on the ladder, he checks the map and their position relative to the eastern sector where Lucian - where the rest of the Imperial forces are trapped. “This is our stop.”

She sticks her fingers into a control panel near the entrance hatch, “Oky-doky, give me a sec.”

A minute later, the hatch springs open and they take the corridor, finally moving horizontally within the facility instead of climbing upwards.

Vette stretches, “This is much nicer.”

“We do not have unlimited time,” he snaps at her, continuing down the hall without bothering to wait for her to finish.

She runs to catch up, almost tripping over a mouse droid that beeps angrily at her. “Seriously, I can’t _believe_ I didn’t know you had a brother! What’s he like? Is he as much of a pain in the ass as you are or is he chill?”

Ignoring Vette is far more difficult than it should be. She tends to take refusal to rise to her bait as a challenge instead of the end of a conversation. That, and she seems to have no sense of when certain comments are appropriate and when they are most definitely not. Instead, he focuses on tracking their route across the holo map. They’re in the eastern sector, and they should be above a series of labs right now.

“Hey there’s kind of an echo in here!” she discovers. She cups her hands around her mouth, “Echoooo!”

He glares at her, “Does the word ‘silent’ mean nothing to you?”

“Does the word ‘I don’t give a fuck’ mean nothing to you?” she replies.

This conversation is going to give him a migraine before they even encounter a single Republic soldier, “That’s five words,” he tells her, “not one. I didn’t know basic counting was beyond you.”

She rolls her eyes, “First, I can _so_ count. Second, I never went to some fancy ass school, you know. They don’t exactly allow Twi’leks at whatever snobby Imperial academy you went to and slaves don’t get an education. So, thirdly, if you’re pissed off cause of some bullshit math -”

“Be quiet,” he says sharply, dropping to one knee to try and hear the sound again.

She stomps her foot, “Hey!”

The vibrations from her actions are all he can hear right now, but he _knows_ that he heard voices below. Once she quiets down, he can hear distant murmuring beneath the layers of durasteel that they’re standing on. They should be directly above one of the larger labs right now, and this _is_ the sector that Ovech marked as sealed off from the Republic.

“I believe we’re above the trapped Imperials,” he says, “We need to find a way down -”

“No need.” She pulls out a small metal tool from her kit, what looks like a laser saw that’s been welded onto a power unit. With a hiss of energy, she turns it on and gets to work cutting a large circle in the floor. It’s too unwieldy for any kind of delicate work, and no where near powerful enough to be used in a similar manner to a lightsaber.

He takes a step back as she continues sawing away, “That doesn’t seem to have a multitude of uses. Why carry it when a standard laser saw could do the same?”

“ _Crime_ , duh,” she replies flippantly, before finishing her circle and pocketing the tool, “All done!”

She kicks down on the circle and it pops out, falling into the room below. A beat later, she swings down after it. They should only be a few feet up, so Malavai tucks the holo map away and drops through the hole.

They land in the middle of a group of technicians, with every blaster in the area shakily pointed right at them. It’s probably Vette, he thinks. She looks far more like a pub than he does, and sure enough, as soon as he stands up and dusts himself off, the blasters drop an inch.

Vette grins and holds her hands up, “We come in peace! Also to rescue you sad bastards!”

One of the senior techs lowers her blaster. She cautiously looks him and Vette over, apparently determines they aren’t a threat, and salutes, “Sir. Er- Ma’am. The major said he got a transmission out but we didn’t think - Well, not many people would risk antagonizing Moff Broysc. If you’re really here to help, then we’re extremely grateful.”

“Where’s Major Ovech?” he asks. They don’t exactly have a lot of time.

The tech opens one of the doors at the far end of the lab, “Through here. The major’s been trying to reinforce the defensive shields on the east wing. All the military personnel are close to the main corridors, we’ve been ordered to the back because we’re technically civilians.”

He waves Vette through first, and then turns back to the group of technicians, “Grab whatever weapons you can and prepare the staff for an evacuation.”

“But-” one of the techs looks mildly panicked, “what about our research?”

“If you can carry it with you, then feel free to do so. If not, destroy it. We can’t risk anything falling into the Republic’s hands,” he tells them.

The woman glares at the tech, “Shut it Glein, your particle cannon report is fifty pages of rubbish anyways.”

Malavai steers Vette forward when it looks like she’s going to stop and laugh. If she wants to joke around with a group of technicians, she can do it when they aren’t working. And when they aren’t in the middle of a dangerous, time sensitive operation.

The main lab is a massive, stark white room that’s been turned over and converted into a military base. Supply crates have been stacked in front of the doors and huge double force fields have been set up just behind the far wall. This area is busier too, no techs, instead squads of soldiers holed up around the lab, running supplies towards the front

The soldiers pause as he and Vette walk through, mostly staring at her.

There’s a crash as something heavy gets dropped and when Malavai turns to look, Lucian is gaping at him.

“You complete _idiot_!” his brother yells.

A second later and Lucian is crushing him into a hug. Thank the force. He doesn’t know what he’d have done if he lost his brother because of his own stupid mistakes. It’s his job to keep Lucian safe and he almost krething failed. When they pull apart, he sees what must be a blaster wound at Lucian’s shoulder, wrapped in bandages and stained with the green of kolto. Not particularly gruesome looking, but unacceptable.

“You’re injured,” he looks again and decides that either someone else took care of the injury, or his brother’s medical skills have gone up a notch recently. “What happened?”

Lucian doesn’t even bother to answer, “What are you _doing_ here? You’re going to piss off so many people - the major told us Moff Broysc has been cutting off our reinforcements. Just because you’re hanging around with a Sith doesn’t mean you can afford to get on a powerful Moff’s bad side!”

“It’s rather late for that,” Malavai admits, although he is a little surprised that Ovech decided to share that bit of information, “Besides, if you think I’d let you get killed or captured by the Republic, then you’re delusional. And how did you get injured?”

“It was a minor fire fight. Occupational hazard, Mal! We both know that! Better me than the _both_ of us -”

“You are _supposed_ to stay out of the line of fire. If you would only listen to what I’m trying to say -”

“I wouldn’t have given the major your frequency if I knew you’d just come here by yourself -”

“That’s a ludicrous proposition and you know it. As you can see, I am _not_ alone -”

“One Twi’lek isn’t-”

Vette clears her throat, “Yeah, hi. ‘One Twi’lek’ here. The name’s Vette, at a rather obvious guess, you’re Lucian, nice to meet you, the usual. I can’t believe I’m the voice of reason right now, but shouldn’t you two be yelling at each other _after_ we save all your asses? I mean, you were _just_ annoyed with me for ‘taking too long’, don’t we have a deadline?”

True. He can always lecture Lucian for being too careless with his own life at a later date. “Lucian, we will discuss this later.”

“Fine, _mom_ ,” Lucian retorts.

Vette points her finger at him, grinning from ear to ear, “You. You I like.”

“Nice to meet you,” he says, shaking Vette’s hand cheerfully. He waves them forward and leads them towards the front of the barricade, through the clusters of pilots, “Come on, I’ll take you to Major Ovech. Did you bring that Sith with you? She’d be really convenient to have right about now.”

Gimrizh was right. It would have been foolish of Malavai to try and do this mission alone. “Lord Gimrizh is in the station. I’ll brief you on the details of our plan along with Major Ovech.”

They pass the first energy shield barriers, Lucian pausing to input a code before they move through to the more western corridors. “I’ve seen the sort of plans you can come up with. Maybe we’ll all actually get out of this one alive.”

“That’s the idea, shortcake,” Vette replies.

Lucian blinks at her, “I’m taller than you. I mean, I’m not complaining, but that doesn’t make sense.”

She shrugs, “You’re shorter than captain stuffy.”

“Vette, could you,” Malavai struggles to find the correct word and it certainly doesn’t help that Lucian is laughing, “...stop?”

Once Lucian manages to swallow his laughter, he hits a panel on the wall that opens a set of doors. "Major's here."

They're standing in front of a control room, numerous terminals that are whirling away, trying to keep the force fields running. Fewer soldiers are up here, just a skeleton crew and the familiar face of Major Ovech.

"Malavai Quinn, it is damn good to see you," Ovech says, walking over to greet them, "How the hells did you get in here?"

"We broke into the eastern sector through a series of droid service tunnels," he explains, "It won't be possible to evacuate through there, however. The space is limited and we would be vulnerable to attack."

Ovech nods thoughtfully, "Yes, if we tried to get out through the tunnels, the Republic could kill us all with one well placed bomb, trapping us in. I assume you've got a better idea?"

"We do. As we speak, Lord Gimrizh and the rest of our crew are clearing the main hangar bay, drawing the pubs away from here. We need to raise the force fields between the hangar bay and the western sector so that we aren't fighting our way out." Lord Gimrizh isn't weak, but the more help they can give her the  better. He doubts she can keep fighting the Republic forever.

"Sounds solid." Ovech turns back to the crew manning the force fields, "Lock down the western half! Divert power from here if you have to, but trap those pubs in their own half of the station!” He speaks into his comm, “Sound the evacuation order.”

Half the soldiers manning the front run to the farther back labs to prepare the civilians for evacuation. It shouldn’t surprise him that Lucian, despite not being an officer, remains right where he is. At least if his brother isn’t out of his sight it’s easier to make sure that he doesn’t get shot at.

“And your Sith?” Ovech asks as the first set of laser shields start to fall.

Malavai opens the link to her comm, “My lord, is the hangar bay secure?”

There’s the sound of a blaster being fired before she replies, “ _Yes, I’m just tidying up the last few stragglers right now. As soon as you get those shields down, head to the rendezvous point.”_

~*~

There’s a hum of energy that echos and buzzes through the framework of the station, the tell-tale sound of power being diverted. A moment later, Jaesa can feel the cluster of Republic reinforcements suddenly halt. Vette and the captain must have gotten the force fields lowered. They’re safe, for now.

That said, there are still a few problems left to deal with. She deflects blaster bolts while Pierce covers her back, shooting two soldiers in quick succession. A few feet away, her master decapitates a man with a single, fluid swing.

It’s the work of a moment. Jaesa deactivates her lightsaber as soon as her master dispatches the last soldier.

“I suppose that’s what passes for soldiers in the Republic,” Pierce comments, shouldering his blaster rifle, “Practically a waste of bolts.”

It’s strange to work alongside Lieutenant Pierce. The thrill he gets from battle surpasses even Gimrizh’s, but it’s also not bloodlust, just a desire to fight and prove himself. She’s still not sure what she thinks about him. He’s also the only member of the crew that is still unaware of her true alignment. She actually doesn’t have a good guess as to what his reaction would be if he _did_ find out. Would he be as reasonable as the captain, or would he decide to attack her regardless? It’s not something she’s currently willing to risk.

“At least it ended in our favor?” she tries.

“Jaesa,” Gimrizh says, making her way to the entrance corridors, “Help me get this door open.”

She takes her place next to her master and together they reach into the force and rip open a huge section of the durasteel doors. One of the Republic’s last moves had been to seal off the corridors that run east-west through the station. But now that the enemy has been confined to the western sector, they can manually re-open the corridors to create a swift and direct path for evacuation.

She can feel Gimrizh’s concern as her master asks, “Are you doing alright?”

“Fine,” she replies, and to her surprise it’s not even a partial lie, “I am becoming more accustomed to fighting the Republic. It might not be my desire, but practice is making it easier.”

“And the evacuation effort?”

Jaesa pauses to sense out where the mass of Imperial life signs are right now, “Approaching us quickly. Should only be a few minutes?”

Her master fiddles nervously for a minute before heading off down the corridor herself, “I’ll meet them half-way. If anything happens, contact me right away. I’m not taking any chances if the Republic breaks through again.”

Gimrizh vanishes into the hall, leaving Jaesa and Pierce to stay in the hangar bay.

It’s difficult to get a solid read on her master, even on good days, just because she keeps her emotions so hidden. But she does seem more worried than usual. Is it because they’re working to save so many civilians, instead of military, or is it because this mission is far more personal? Jaesa must admit, she’s actually looking forward to meeting Quinn’s brother. She hopes that Vette doesn’t start picking a fight with him right away.

To be fair to her master, she’s worried as well. Every time that she and Vette are split up for a mission it’s as though Jaesa feels strained. Pulled between the there and now, and wherever in the force Vette’s comforting signature is. If she thought it would help any, she’d be at her master's side, rushing to meet Vette. But she can sense Vette in the force, can tell that she’s safe, that she’s unharmed, and knows that there’s no use in running around like a mynock with its head cut off.

She settles down to keep an eye, so to speak, on the force. The Republic reinforcements are still trapped in the western sector, and although there is a purpose to their presence that makes her think they’re trying to implement some plan, they aren’t moving. The Imperial forces on the other hand, are quite close. She can sense a number of more steady minds, soldiers, as well as some who seem much more panicked, civilians. Her master’s presence loses some of it’s agitation, an indicator that she’s made contact with the main group.

“Worried over the girlfriend?” Pierce asks lightly, coming to sit next to her on a chunk of the door rubble.

Jaesa tries to avoid blushing and fails, “A little.”

He lights a cigarra and takes a drag, “Well, we’ve got a minute. Smoke?”

“Okay.” She takes the offered cigarra. The smoke fills her lungs and makes her choke and try to cough it up. It’s so unpleasant. How the hells does he _like_ those things?

“Guess it’s not your thing,” he chuckles.

It feels like she swallowed a mouthful of ash, “Stars, that’s horrible.”

“Better than thinking about how long it’ll take the Republic to break though,” he comments, apparently a pessimist to the core, “I like ‘em. Something to keep your hands and mind busy. Not exactly a good idea to spend the moments between fights worrying.”

“Perhaps,” she agrees, “I’ll refrain, however.”

He blows out a mouthful of smoke, tapping the ashes out onto the duracrete floor, “You’ve been getting better at this, kid. Always good to keep working on your lightsaber skills. Force powers can’t do everything.”

“I’d return the compliment, but in truth your abilities on the battlefield have always been exceptional,” she replies.

“And you say that’s not a compliment,” he laughs, “No wonder Vette likes you. She’s always looking for someone to stroke her ego.”

Jaesa purses her lips, “Is that an insult?”

“Nah.” He flicks a few hot embers away with his finger.

She can feel the Imperial soldiers approach before she hears or sees them, leaping to her feet as she senses her master’s approach. Pierce stands up and grinds his cigarra beneath the heel of his boot.

“Guess that’s the end of our break,” he says.

Gimrizh is the first one through the tunnel, directing the flow of the evacuation with the captain at her side. “Jaesa!” she says as soon as the group starts to move into the hangar bay, “Show this group of technicians to the transport shuttles, take Vette with you. The rest of us will stay here while the military personnel is evacuated via whatever fighter ships are available. Once we’re clear to take off, we’re going to use _Horizon_ as a diversion, draw off that Republic ship at the top of the station.”

“Yes master,” she quickly agrees, overjoyed to see Vette saunter over.

They play bodyguard while groups of techs load onto large shuttles, each group accompanied by a pilot.

“How’d the fighting go?” Vette asks, leaning against the side of the shuttle.

Jaesa shrugs, “Unpleasant. How did your side of the mission go?”

“Stuck climbing through tunnels with captain stuffy? Boring. His bro’s cool though,” she admits, surprisingly impressed, “Actually not that bad a guy. He called Quinn ‘mom’. I’ve got a feeling we’re kindred spirits.”

That’s a relief. Better than Vette finding someone else to fight with. Particularly since it seems as though she’s been arguing with Gimirzh lately. She has been making more enemies than friends recently. “I’m glad you…”

Something’s wrong.

“Jaesa?” Vette glances around, “Is there…?”

She dives into the force, reaches the Republic and finds that the confusion from before has melted away, leaving behind only certainty in their forces as they advance towards the hangar bay. But why would that be? Dangar pulses through the force. A slicer, it has to be, someone cutting into the security system and she reaches into their mind, finding lines of code and the purpose of powering down the security shields.

The Republic reinforcements will pour into the hangar bay, and they’ll be trapped. They haven’t got the civilian transports out yet, and they can’t move them yet because _Horizon_ isn’t in place to act as a distraction, the shuttles would be shot out of the sky. They’d be slaughtered.

“Master!” she yells, “The shields are-!”

Every synthetic light goes out. The shields fall.

~*~

This is not ideal. And that’s saying something, considering what the rest of Lucian’s week has been like.

“We need _Horizon_ ,” Lord Gimrizh says, her face illuminated by the natural light from outside, “The civilians have nowhere to go but right into the range of that Republic vessel, and they’ll be slaughtered. Our ship is the only one that can fight them right now, or at least hold out until the rest of the fighters have mobilized. Quinn, grab the rest of the crew and get _Horizon_ out there.”

Yeah, he can see where this is going. Mal isn’t going to like it. Sure enough, his brother starts arguing the command, “With all due respect, my lord, it would make more sense for me to remain here.”

For a Sith, she’s surprisingly, well, un-Sith like. Most Sith would kill someone who contradicted one of their commands, “Vette can’t fly our ship alone. Take Major Ovech with you and get out of here. I’ll be staying behind to assist the evacuation.”

“And then how will _you_ evacuate?” Mal protests, “My lord, you can’t pilot an ISF and we aren’t about to leave you behind.”

“Don’t worry,” she tells him, “I’ll keep Lucian safe during the evacuation, and I’ll board a shuttle before the last one leaves. But _someone_ needs to guard the civilians.”

“I don’t think that’s -” Whatever Mal had been about to say is cut off.

The first of many Republic squads rushes the hangar bay, opening fire.

She draws two lightsabers, one red and the other Jedi blue, “Go!”

“See you on the other side,” Lucian says, punching Mal in the shoulder before his brother does anything stupid.

“Get to your fighters immediately!” Ovech orders.

The major shoots a pub in the face before he, Mal, and the three others that make up his brother’s crew head down to wherever they’ve stashed their ship. It’s almost a shame Lucian’s not going with them. He’d like to see a _Fury_ -Interceptor up close and personal some time. They’re supposed to be amazing ships.

One of the first shuttles powers up and jets out of the hangar, peppered with fire from Republic blasters.

Within a few minutes, the entire place becomes a chaotic mess. The Republic must have been banking a hell of a lot on this takeover, because those are a shit ton more soldiers than Lucian had been expecting for just a basic reinforcements unit. They must have been keeping more troops in reserve since Lord Gimrizh and her team first took the hangar bay, counting on a strong counter attack and letting her take the bay first.

Blaster fire darts across the open space, people falling on both sides. The rest of the techs hurriedly get on board the last of the shuttles and the pilots move to engage, many squads getting cut off before they can reach the fighters docked along the far wall.

The enemy catches sight of Lord Gimrizh’s lightsabers and attacks.

Lord Gimrizh moves too fast for him to see, just a blur and then she’s cutting down a pub that tries to rush them. “Lucian!” she falls a step back to cover him, “Your fighter! Now!”

Actually, no. He’s got a blaster, and he’s a better shot than most of his squad. There are still shuttles full of civilians and the rest of Blue Squad is still grounded. “Pardon me, but I’m staying grounded for now, Lord Korribanil!”

She guts a soldier quick as a flash, “Fine - but if you die, Quinn will kill both of us.”

Probably true, that. He draws his sidearm, a smaller blaster than he would like, but still effective against people. A group of pubs has Blue Squad pinned down and he runs to create an opening for his team.

He pegs one of the enemies in the head. Ille, the single Chiss in his squad, takes out two of the pubs and then his squad is freed up.

Ille watches his six as the two of them take point. Behind them, Jenya, Warren, and Annah board their ISFs. Their ships draw enemy fire before their mooring cables snap off, and then they’re zipping out in open air. Lucian gives Ille a boost up as his last teammate swings up into the belly of his fighter.

“Good luck, Lucy,” Ille says, just before the hatch slides shut and his ISF powers up.

He steps back and lets the last of his squad fly off. He’ll see them when they rendezvous at the Cato Neimoidia spacedock. With luck, they’ll all get there safely. Just outside, he can see Blue Squad covering a civilian shuttle as they make their retreat. None of these vessels have hyperdrives, so they can’t get out of the system, but a spacedock in orbit above the planet shouldn’t take too long to dock at. If the Republic is trying to keep the attack here covert, then they won’t have reinforcements besides the one ship that’s moored at the top of the station.

A massive ship rises outside, much bigger than the fighters or shuttles that they have here, but it’s definitely Imperial-make. It’s the _Fury_ -Interceptor. He can _hear_ the hum of power as it’s cannons wake up and prepare to shoot. For a moment, _Horizon_ blocks out the sun, and then it’s speeding off to the side of the mountain, exchanging fire with the Republic corvette which takes the bait and is drawn away from the civilian shuttles.

Something slams into him, taking his breath away for a moment, an invisible force reaching out to swat him to the ground.

A barrage of bolts goes right over his head into the durasteel wall behind him.

When he manages to get his feet back under him, he sees Lord Gimrizh with her arm outstretched. Did she _save_ him?

Once she ascertains his safety, she attacks the soldiers who shot him.

It seems absurd now that he thought her to be unlike a Sith. He can barely catch her movements, and wherever she turns, someone dies. There’s nothing he can do to assist, he’d just get in her way.

She’s not even particularly vicious or brutal, it’s a mix of precision and strength, one hit, one kill. It makes sense Mal seems to get along with her so well. Efficient and effective, overwhelming power applied with complete accuracy - it’s the same exact strategy he’s seen Mal prefer, whether it’s in a game of dejarik or on a shooting range.

She despatches a soldier with a neat flick of her wrist. “Get to your damn ship!” she tells him.

“Not yet,” he shoots an approaching pub - stars, killing is much worse when he’s not doing it from behind a viewport. It’s easier to fire if he’s just shooting down enemy fighters. “There’s still one shuttle left, I’m not leaving till it heads out of here with you on it. Sorry, Lord Korribanil.”

“Oh for-” she elegantly lunges forward to plunge her lightsaber into a pub’s heart. “Haven’t I told you to call me by my first name?”

He doesn’t get a chance to answer that question as a blaster bolt grazes his leg.

The pain is the most debilitating part, making him cry out and drop to the ground, even as he recognizes that it’s just a minor burn. The bolt barely burnt through fabric, he’ll be fine.

Lord Gimrizh leaps to his defense, decapitating the man who shot him, then turning with a look of panic on her face, “Lucian! Are you -”

A bolt hits her in the side.

She looks more surprised than anything as she falls to one knee.

Lucian ignores the pain in his leg and rushes over to her side, shooting her attacker as he runs. He slides an arm around her, pulling her up. She reaches out her hand and her fallen lightsaber gets tugged onto her belt, her second blade still gripped tightly in her hand. Even injured, she still seems determined to protect him.

“You’re leaving,” he tells her, “Right now!”

She shoves him away, sliding into a defensive stance. A beat later, she deflects a bolt with her blade, sending it back to it’s shooter and killing a pub. As soon as it’s done, she sinks, swaying on her feet, “I’m not leaving you to get killed by the Republic,” she grits out.

Yup. No krething wonder Mal likes her. “If you would stop being stubborn and just get on-”

The last shuttle blasts out of the hangar, smoke from blaster bolts trailing from one of it’s engines. It must have had to depart early, or risk being blown up.

“Okay, change of plan,” he decides.

She raises her lightsaber, “Get to your ship.”

There is no other way out. He retreats, “Cover me. I’ll shoot, you defend.”

They make their way towards his fighter, one of the last ISFs left in the dock. All the other squads have headed out by now, which unfortunately means all of the Republic’s attention is focused on them now.

Lord Gimrizh keeps the blaster fire off them while the Republic advances. They’re cornered, but they’re cornered right in front of Lucian’s ISF fighter. She leans against the side of the ship as she defends.

He grabs onto the boarding handle and opens the hatch, “Lord Kor- Gimrizh, get in!”

She reaches out with her hand, all signs of injury gone for a moment. Like magic, a huge wall panel gets ripped from it’s foundations and hurtles towards the Republic, mowing down a large swathe of their enemies in a single blow. Sith are considered to be at the pinnacle of combat, and it’s easy to see why.

He slides into the sole seat in his fighter, and a moment later, Lord Gimrizh pulls herself inside.

ISFs aren’t designed for two passengers. At least she’s short. She kneels behind his seat, tucking herself into a ball so that the hatch can fully close. It’ll be close quarters, but at least she won’t be exacerbating her injury.

“Hold on,” he tells her, plugging his datastick key card into the controls and punching in his passcode. The ISF hums to life and the first thing he does is get the shields up. ISF shields are pieces of crap and can’t do jack shit against any kind of ship-mounted guns, but they can hold out against standard blaster bolts for a while.

The engine whirs and he engages the thrust. They barrel out of the hangar bay.

Once they’re out into open space, it’s smooth flying. The Republic doesn’t have their own fighters to attack them with, and the corvette they had is a smoking wreckage that’s been crashed into the side of a rock spire. He programs the coordinates for the Imperial spacedock that’s orbiting the planet into the nav, and then follows the rest of their ships out of atmo.

Lord Gimrizh opens her comm, “Quinn, we’re on our way to meet at the spacedock. Evacuation is complete.”

“ _Understood, my lord_ ,” Mal says through the static, “ _Is Lucian…?”_

“I’m fine, nothing to worry about on my part,” he replies, leaning over the seat so that his voice can be heard, “Lord Gimrizh is a hell of a fighter. But she got shot while we were retreating.”

She glares at him.

“ _My lord, are you alright?”_ he asks, audibly concerned.

“Fine,” she says firmly, “it’s _nothing_. Just a minor side wound.”

If he knows Mal, that excuse isn’t going to work. “ _I’ll ascertain that myself, my lord_.”

The call cuts and Lord Gimrizh practically pouts at him. The effect is somewhat ruined by the fact that she’s bleeding and that he’s seen her kill over a dozen people. He’s not scared of her, but it’s definitely hilarious to see such a childish expression on her face. “I can see why Vette likes you,” she says scathingly.

“My wit and charm?” he tosses back, “Seriously though, get that injury looked at. I don’t want you bleeding out in my ship.”

They don’t encounter any Republic forces en route to the spacedock.

Apparently, the Republic must have been counting on the element of surprise and numbers winning out in one swift attack. The only ships patrolling this system are Imperial or independently owned and operated. Major Ovech has likely informed the spacedock about the evacuation, as all patrolling ships let them pass into the station without stopping them.

“I was wondering,” he asks, a little bit nervous, “how did you reach us so quickly? We thought we might be waiting for weeks for any kind of help.”

He can’t see her face as she replies, “We were nearby. We’d been stationed on Balmorra for the last month.”

“Ouch,” he winces, “That’s a shitty place to be.”

“Listen, I know that you’re concerned about Quinn,” she says, “but don’t go digging. What Major Ovech told you is all you’re cleared to know. Trust me. Moff Broysc screwed you all over, but the more you try and - it wouldn’t end well.”

Is he really that obvious? Or maybe it’s just that this entire disaster seems a little too constructed and planned out to have been a series of accidents. Come on, Broysc grounds a defense team full of _pilots_ and then the secret research station suddenly isn’t a secret anymore, and when they ask Broysc for the reinforcements that should be readily provided they mysteriously can’t reach his ship’s comm? And then of course, Lucian wants to know why Mal didn’t have any reservations about getting on a Moff’s bad side.

“Oh alright,” he reluctantly concedes - can’t exactly go against the fact that she’s probably a hell of a lot more aware of the situation than he is, “but I worry. If Broysc finds out, he’ll be in real trouble.”

She doesn’t speak for a while as they pass through the mid patrol of Imperial ships, the spacedock coming up in his viewscreen. “You’re lucky,” she says at last, “You and Quinn. For both of us, there are parts of Quinn’s past that we don’t know about. In my experience, and feel free to discard this, it’s less important to know the details of what’s going on than it is to just try and understand what they’re going through.”

Yeah that _definitely_ sounds like a personal experience, “I’m gonna guess you’re talking about your sister?”

At first he thinks that maybe he’s pissed her off somehow, because she gets really really silent. He can’t even hear her breath for a while. “My sister’s dead.”

“Oh stars,” he feels like she just punched him in the gut, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up. Was it the Republic?”

“No,” she tells him quietly, “It was my fault. She was suffering and I didn’t even try to - that’s my point. I didn’t know what she was going through, and if I’d asked, I don’t know if she would have told me. What I didn’t do, was try to understand her. Everything me and Quinn do is classified and you _can’t_ know, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be there for him.”

“He’s my _brother_ , of course I’m going to try and help him, even if he’s an idiot and keeps trying to keep me in the dark,” he replies.

He thinks she’s smiling as she says, “Like I said, you’re lucky.”

“Hey,” he locks the steering in place as they coast toward the space dock and turns around in his seat so that he can look down at her, “Siblings are a pain in the ass, but I’ve found they tend to be worth it.”

She tilts her head up and there is a tiny whisper of a smile on her lips, “My sister was - _is_.”

He slides back to the controls as they approach the spacedock.

They’re guided into one of the vertical hangar bays and instructed to dock in one of the racks alongside the wall. Once they’re securely moored, he powers down his ship and pockets the datastick key.

“You’re going to have to get out first,” he tells her, opening the hatch.

She almost falls out of the cabin and he quickly leaps out to make sure she doesn’t collapse and hit her head and get even more banged up. “I’m alright,” she says, trying to wave him off.

Yeah, no she’s not. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

A medical unit meets them as soon as they step into the space dock proper. Someone who’s a bit too pushy for her own good manhandles Gimrizh onto a stretcher.

“Hey Mal,” Lucian says, relieved, as his brother takes over the medical convoy and sends them off towards a proper medbay, “How’d playing decoy go?”

Mal points at the medbay doors, “Don’t think that you can avoid medical treatment just because Lord Gimrizh is in worse shape.”

Ah fuck. Lucian reluctantly follows his brother into the medbay and sits down on one of the benches. The team of medics takes Lord Gimrizh into a separate room, likely somewhere that has skin grafting equipment, so that they can patch her up if they decide she won’t heal fast enough without the extra support.

With an impressive lack of protest and squirming, Lucian lets Mal apply kolto to his leg and unwrap the shitty, last-minute bandages he put on his shoulder earlier. The fussy bastard.

“So,” he asks, glad that Lord Gimrizh isn’t in the room anymore, “Why aren’t you dating Gimrizh yet?”

Mal purposefully pulls the bandages painfully tight, “I don’t know what would make you ask such a stupid question.”

He rolls his eyes, “Oh come on. Just answer the question.”

“Fine,” Mal ties off the wrappings and picks up the kolto again, “Firstly, she’s a Sith Lord. I’m only a captain-”

“Captain, second rank,” Lucian remarks, “and when did you get promoted?’

Mal glares at him, “Do you want me to answer one question at a time, or shall I just tell you nothing at all? Trust me, I’m in favor of the latter option.”

“No no,” he waves him forward with his good arm, “continue with your list of excuses.”

“As I said, firstly, the difference in our station is too great,” Mal explains, “Secondly, she’s my commanding officer. It would be inappropriate for me to take advantage of our working relationship, and she would presume that I’d be attempting to play her in exchange for her favor. Thirdly, you’re assuming she would be interested. And finally, you’re assuming _I’m_ interested.”

“You’re telling me you’re _not_ interested?” Lucian asks flatly, calling out his brother’s bullshit response.

He can tell Mal hesitates while his brother starts spreading kolto over his shoulder, “I’m not. It would be highly unprofessional of me.”

“True,” Lucian agrees, “but it’s your decision. All I’m gonna say is that I approve.”

“Thank you for your approval of something that is never going to happen,” Mal sharply replies. He tosses a roll of bandages at him, “I’ll assume that you can figure out what to do with those.’

He bites one end between his teeth and wraps his shoulder. Once he’s done, he tears the bandage off and ties it. “Have you spoken to Major Ovech?” he asks, “I’m wondering what our next move is going to be, although I guess you have to go back to wherever secret Sith business sends you.”

Whatever it is, Mal doesn’t look happy about it. “Your team, along with Major Ovech, are being sent to the planetside base as soon as everyone is able to move. The technicians and civilian personnel are to remain here. The Republic is holding the research station for now and there was no discussion relating to any possible counterattacks. There’s a larger and much more heavily defended base down on the surface, and if you remain there, it wouldn’t look as bad if someone investigates.”

“You mean if Broysc tries to pull something, we can claim we didn’t technically disobey orders by remaining planetside?” Lucian guesses.

Mal’s expression darkens, “Broysc won’t cause you trouble again. I can promise you that.”

His brother always did have a tenacious hold on his grudges. Lucian can’t stop him even if he wanted to, “Don’t get yourself killed doing something stupid, alright? It would be a real pain in the ass to have to find a new brother.”

“I will try and avoid that outcome,” Mal replies.

Lucian sighs and stands up, stretching out his shoulder, “If we’re supposed to head planetside asap, then I should meet up with the major. Gotta at least _pretend_ that we didn’t completely disobey orders.”

“Keep yourself safe,” Mal orders, “I won’t always be able to rescue you.”

He grins, “Yeah you will. And Mal? Even if there’s a lot of secret Sith stuff that I’ll never know about, I’m still your brother. You _can_ talk to me, you know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good, cause I meant it. I’ll send you a message when or if something comes up. See you around.”

~*~

The day after Lucian and Major Ovech return to the planet’s surface, Malavai still is uncertain whether or not he’s going to be on board _Horizon_ when it leaves.

He has to take care of Broysc, he knows that now. If that means murder, then so be it. No one else in the Empire seems to be willing to do what is necessary and he refuses to allow the man to live after setting up a trap designed to kill Lucian. His next move is taking out Broysc, but he can do that on his own. Of course, it doesn’t have to be that way, he knows that if he asked her, Lord Gimrizh would lend her assistance and truth be told, having a Sith would significantly increase the chances of success.

It just wouldn’t be fair to her, however.

Because the absolute worst part of this entire disaster is that Lucian is right. Completely and painfully right. No matter how much Malavai might wish it were otherwise, he’s become emotionally compromised.

At first, it had been easy to ignore. Easy to put to the side in favor of focusing on the mission that they’ll inevitably be assigned to, focusing on the war, or on upgrading her ship, or on making sure Vette doesn’t destroy anything, or on trying to pinpoint Jaesa’s loyalties, or a thousand other things that are easier to deal with.

When he started work for her he saw her almost as a caricature of a Sith, the epitome of what the Empire stands for. And then he actually got to know her, and every detail he learned, every layer of her that he discovered turned into a real person and he had to consider that he actually saw her as more than that. He started to learn who she was for his own sake, not Baras’. That had probably been his downfall. Because once he saw her, really saw her, how could he not care for her? Her shocking loyalty, her selflessness, a mind sharper than he ever would have guessed. A startling raw power that never fails to take his breath away.

But then Gimrizh had almost died and he didn’t even realize until now how inconceivable her death had seemed to him. Until she ordered him from her side in the fight and he considered for the first time that she actually might not make it back.

It’s a problem.

What right does he have to care for Gimrizh when he can’t even figure out if he’s been betraying her this whole time or not? He doesn’t know who’s side he’s on and he’s not even sure if there are sides to this situation. He’s already sold his career to Baras, he can’t split his loyalties. He can’t do that to her.

He doesn’t deserve to care for her. ‘Care’ might not be the most accurate word for what he feels for her, but it’s safer by far than ‘love’.

Now that he knows, he can’t continue to serve under her command. His ability to perform his job would be undermined by his emotions. He has no right to be her captain, not anymore. Why would she bother to entertain his foolishness, a promising lord dawdling with a disgraced officer? It’d be unprofessional. It’d be dangerous.

There’s really only one option available to him. He’s of no use to Baras on her ship anymore and he can’t continue to do the job that was asked of him.

He makes his way towards _Horizon_ , the ship moored in one of the lower levels of the spacedock while a repair crew fixes up the damage they took when crashing into the station.

Vette’s a good hand with mechanics, even if he’d never admit it. She’ll be able to keep the ship in repair between missions. He can program Toovee with numerous medical procedures. Make it so that Gimrizh isn’t inconvenienced while she finds a replacement for him.

As he expected, she’s on the bridge.

Her injuries should be healed within a few days, nothing more he can do for her now. She’s leaning over the terminal, reading through a report on the damage to _Horizon_. Once he steps onto the bridge, she looks up, “Oh Quinn, just in time. I have a question for you. The repairs list damage to the engine air filters, but because of all the modifications, they can’t fix it. I was wondering if you could take a look sometime?”

Stars, he can’t do this. He can’t hurt her, “Unfortunately, my lord, I think it would be best if you asked Vette instead.”

“Why?” she double checks the report, “Did Vette make these upgrades?”

The datapad in his hand suddenly seems to weigh an extra thirty kilos, “Permission to speak freely, my lord?”

She frowns, clearly confused, “You don’t need permission, you know that. Is there something wrong?”

“I must officially request to be reassigned,” he says quickly, not wanting to draw out the moment. He hands her the datapad, “Transfer paperwork. Effective immediately. All it’s missing is your signature.”

Numbly, she takes the datapad. She falters for a few moments, as if in disbelief, “I- I see,” she can’t look at him, just staring down at the screen, “If this is what you want. I’d never keep you in my service against your wishes.” She grabs a lightpen and shakily signs her name on the form, “Do you - do you know where you’ll be stationed after this?”

“Not yet, my lord.” Her signature is a scratchy mess and he wishes she didn’t so visibly give a damn.

She keeps looking at her hands, “Of course.”

 _Damn it_ , he thinks _, look at me! If you order me to stay, I would_. “Thank you, my lord.”

“Good luck,” she says, “captain.”

He slowly bows and then leaves her standing on the bridge. This is for the best. It has to be.

~*~

Twenty minutes till he’s gone for good.

Gimrizh sits on the galley floor, her hands wrapped around a now cold mug of caff. It feels like her head’s spinning around in circles. She just doesn’t understand. She thought - she thought that Quinn liked this posting. She thought that she could count him among her close friends, a group with a grand total of four people. She thought he liked her.

What an idiot she’s been.

Perhaps it was Vette’s meddling, or her own stupid infatuation with him that made him decide he was no longer welcome here. Maybe he found out about her feelings for him and was too disgusted to stay. Not like she could blame him for that. Whatever she did that pushed him away, she’s sorry for it.

This is how it always goes, isn’t it? No one she loves can survive being around her for long. Perhaps it’s for the best that Quinn’s leaving now, before she gets him killed.

Fifteen minutes till his flight to Dromund Kaas leaves.

She stares up at the ceiling, wishing it had the answers. She’s been such an idiot. This is Quinn’s job and she was stupid enough to fall in love with him. Even if he hadn’t asked to be reassigned, he would have been transferred eventually. She set herself up for nothing but a solid dose of heartbreak. What did she think she’d do when he inevitably left? She’s a Sith, she can’t be moping around.

Why now? Why did he pick this time to leave? Why couldn’t he have left her before she realized she cares for him? Then at least, it wouldn’t hurt so much. Why couldn’t she have just kept her silly emotions under control?

“Damn it,” she swears, pushing herself up.

She has to know why. Even if it turns out that he hates her, it will be better than never knowing the reason. A detestable reason will always be better than spending the rest of her life wondering.

She throws her mug into the sink and runs down the gangplank.

At least no one stops her as she rushes through the spacedock. Small benefits of being a Sith, Imperial soldiers are unlikely to try and tell her no. She hastily consults the holo that lists outbound vessels, finding the docking bay number of the one she’s looking for. There’s still time, she can make it.

There’s a cargo transport sitting in the hangar bay, a few crew members loading up the hold with crates. And standing near the edge of the port, a bag slung over his shoulder, is Quinn, looking just the same as he had that day on Balmorra when he first joined her crew.

Her hearts twist in her chest. She shoves that down and walks up to him, “Quinn. I - I’d like to speak with you before you go. If it’s alright.”

He looks almost reluctant as he agrees, “Of course, my lord.” He heads towards an empty corridor off the hangar bay, “This way.”

Once they’re out of the way, the noise of the bustle and the hum of the ship fade into the background. No one’s around, she’ll be able to talk to him without interruption. And if she says something he finds insulting, no one will be around to witness her humiliation.

“What can I help you with, my lord?” he asks.

She tightens her hands into fists, “I want to know why. I thought - I was under the impression that you were satisfied with your former posting. You don’t have to tell me, I understand that your reasons might be personal, but I have to ask. Why did you request to be reassigned?”

He turns his head away from her, “Do forgive me for my presumption. I - I am compromised. In this assignment, I cannot work objectively. As I am, I would only be a hindrance to you. I decided that a reassignment would be better for the crew, and for you. It would be best for you to find a replacement, instead of having me remain and inconvenience you.”

“Compromised?” she doesn’t understand, “Is this about your brother?”

“No, my lord,” he replies.

She wishes he would just _explain_ , “Then what is it?”

He looks her straight in the eye, and for a moment she thinks that this is hurting him as much as it is her, only that can’t be right, “It’s you, my lord.”

She freezes - bracing herself for the disgust, for the rejection that she’s anticipating, “What - what have I done?”

“Nothing,” he hastily assures her, “Nothing at all. I - please forgive me for this - I care for you. More than I should, more than I deserve to. That’s why I’m leaving. I don't wish to risk you, and I can’t do my job with impartiality anymore. I cannot, in good conscience, continue to serve.”

No that’s not- he can’t. Why would he? What would he see in her?

“If that’s - It’s your decision,” she says quietly. She can’t change his mind for him, and she won’t try and argue with him if he thinks it’s for the best.

He bows his head, “Thank you for your understanding, my lord. I sincerely apologize.”

No, she can’t let it end like this. She won’t argue, but now that she knows he feels the same, she can’t just stay silent. She thought there wasn’t a chance in the galaxy that he could care for her in return and if she was wrong about that then maybe he’s wrong about this, only he doesn’t know that she returns his feelings.

She steels herself and rips away her defenses, “Quinn, I - I want you to know something. I - I like you. As well. I think I love you. I have for a long time, and I don't know what this is or why I feel the way I feel, but the thought of never seeing you again _hurts_ and I can't bare that - not without telling you this first. I know anything between the two of us would be a challenge - I'm okay with that. I know you might not be, but - You should know that's... that's how I feel.”

That’s it. She has nothing left to hide from him.

He looks at her like he’s never seen her before now, like he can’t imagine her doing something as simple as standing in front of him and she knows that feeling well. "You are making doing the right thing incredibly difficult."

"Good. Don't," she tells him.

There's a thud as he drops the bag he's been carrying and then he’s kissing her.

His lips are warmth and soft against her’s and she can feel his hands rest on her hips as gives herself over to the sensation of what she's been dreaming of for months now. It's chaste, sweet, gentle, and she loves it utterly and desperately wants more at the same time. It feels like there’s a star in her chest and for one perfect moment the entire universe seems to slide into place. 

They break apart, for just a moment, breathing heavily - she feels drunk on him. "I - I apologize," Quinn tries, a red flush high on his cheekbones that she's sure is mirrored on her own face. "I should have asked first. Is this - okay?"

"It's fucking perfect." 

She pushes herself up on her toes and grabs a handful of his shirt, pulling him down to her. Their second kiss is headier, needier, both of them grabbing at each other, restrained to a fine line only by the fact that they're technically still in public. When he pushes against her, ever so slightly, she gives in, his tongue sliding against hers, hot and wet, dragging the air from her lungs. 

Finally she pulls back an inch for air and asks breathlessly, “Stay?”

“For as long as you want me to," he promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's 200k of slow burn over with!  
> As always, please comment!  
> Thoughts? Untapped rage and aggression? Burning desire to poke me with a stick? I'm always on AO3 and my tumblr is @semper-draca, hmu


	20. Ad Parietem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that there's been a delay on this chapter, I'm wading through midterms and essays and art work. As always, shoutout to FallenAscendant, my fab beta!  
> This chapter, aka: Broysc unfortunately does not get shot in the dick, the time honored traditions of sisterhood, and racism makes a shitty third wheel

Flickering neon signs illuminate the otherwise pitch black streets of Nar Shaddaa’s red light district. There’s a quiet blare of background noise, music from clubs, chatter on the streets, the distant roar of speeder engines. A swoop gang has claimed a street corner for their own, loitering around and trying to chat up a group of escorts.

Dressed in black, lightsabers hidden under a bulky jack, Gimrizh skirts the edges of the streets. She keeps to the shadows, not drawing attention. It wouldn’t do to let her target become aware of her presence.

“ _Next block_ ,” Jaesa’s voice says through the earpiece, _“to your right_.”

She doesn’t reply. After a speeder zips by, she darts across the street and scans the area. A few cantinas to her left, to her right, a gentleman’s club. How distasteful. This being Nar Shaddaa, she wouldn’t be surprised if all the workers there are slaves. It’s a good thing Vette stayed behind, she’d be much more annoyed. As it is, Gimrizh just bites her lip and walks in through the front door.

A pretty Twi’lek girl with a slave collar greets her at the door, “Welcome, ma’am. How may I assist you?”

Gimrizh holds out a holo, a tiny blue image of a man slowly rotating around in the projector, “I’m looking for this man.”

“I’m very sorry, ma’am,” the girl says, putting on a well practice blank face with a flat, amiable smile, “but we have a strict confidentiality policy. I’m afraid that I cannot help you. If you’d like me to fetch the manager, or assist you in some other aspect, I’d be happy to.”

Poor girl. “I understand, I’m not trying to cause trouble for you,” Gimrizh says softly, “But perhaps I didn’t explain myself properly. I _know_ that this man is here, and I will find him with or without your help. With your help, we leave quietly and peacefully, after he pays whatever he owes you. Without your help, we might be leaving much more violently.”

“If you’re an affiliate of the BBA - ” the girl tries.

Gimrizh levitates the holo a few inches above her palm, spinning it in place as it floats, “I’m with a different organization entirely.”

The girl’s red skin suddenly gets a few shades paler. “Please, I’m not allowed to break the rules. We’ve served the Sith before, giving you his location wouldn’t be excused.”

“Of course.” She returns the holo to her pockets, “How much do you cost?”

“Oh. Ten thousand, I can direct you to our sales associate if you’re interested in making a purchase -” the girl explains, relieved that the topic has apparently been changed.

Gimrizh floats a credit chip through the spice-smoke filled air, “That’s twenty thousand. Where is he?”

The girl’s heavily painted lower lip hangs open as she stares at the credits. Her hands snatch out and grab the money, “He’s in the back, third room to the left. There’s a back door, if you could… be discreet…”

“Certainly,” Gimrizh assures her, “Thank you for your assistance. Oh, and if you could tell whoever is entertaining him to leave, that’d be most appreciated.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the girl replies, still staring at the credit chip in her hands.

Gimrizh carefully makes her way through the establishment’s halls, counting off doors in her head as she goes. It’s all very elegant looking for such a seedy place, although the effect is somewhat ruined by the overwhelming smell of death sticks and glitterstim.

Once she reaches the third room, she finds herself faced with two bodyguards.

“Get out of here,” one of the them tells her, “Piss off.”

“I’m _ever_ _so_ sorry,” she drawls, “but I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

In one quick movement, she reaches beneath her jacket, pulls out her lightsaber hilts and digs them into the two men’s throats. All she has to do is momentarily activate the blades and they slump to the ground.

That done, she stows her weapons and politely knocks on the door. Two girls, one a Twi’lek, the other Chiss, scurry out. Gimrizh presses another credit chip into the Chiss’ hand, “For what he owes you. Keep the change.”

They run off and she steps inside.

“Broysc,” she sneers, “I’ve come to collect you.”

He unsteadily gets to his feet, a glass of whiskey sloshing around in his hand. He looks half drunk and half mad. “I am a _Moff_ , I’ll have you know!” he slurs at her. “What’s Zabrak trash like you doing, ruining my fun? I could have you executed for this if I wanted, you know!”

“Oh do shut up,” she strides over, punches him in the gut, and then gags him with her scarf while he’s down. He tries to scream at her, but all she can hear is vague muffled mumbling. “That’s _so_ much better.”

She snaps a pair of cuffs around his wrists and grabs the back of his shirt, dragging him along behind her. Sure enough, there’s the back door the nice Twi’lek had mentioned. Using a whisper of the force, she unlocks the bolt and steps out into another dimly lit street. Thank the stars she’s on Nar Shaddaa. If they were in Kaas City, she’d be attracting odd looks, dragging a gagged Moff behind her like this. Here, no one gives her a second glance.

“Don’t worry,” she tells him absently as she hauls him towards a warehouse that they’ve commandeered for a bit of privacy. “ _I’m_ not going to kill you.”

Using the force, she opens the warehouse door and pushes Broysc in first before shutting the door behind them.

The rest of her crew is waiting inside. Apparently, Vette and Pierce got bored while she was gone, and at some point started playing sabacc. Jaesa takes the earpiece from her and returns it to the comm set, “Welcome back, master.”

Gimrizh kicks Broysc to the floor, “He’s all yours,” she says, unable to suppress a smile as she looks up at Quinn. “Anywhere in particular you’d like me to throw him?”

“Thank you, my lord.” He levels his blaster at Broysc’s head, “And no, this is is fine. I doubt this will take long.”

Broysc starts yelling again, and Gimrizh is _so_ thankful that she decided to gag him. She’d rather not have to listen to his insane ramblings. Besides, she’s slightly distracted right now. Like an idiot, she can’t keep her eyes off Quinn. The decade-old resentment, the anticipation, the certainty that he’s in control of the entire situation, all laid out across his face. There’s a smug smirk on his lips that makes her cheeks flush beneath her tattoos.

He lowers his blaster slightly and shots Broysc in the leg.

“ _That_ was for Balmorra,” he says.

He shoots again, pinning Broysc between the eyes and then the man is dead.

“Really?” Vette asks flatly, putting down her cards to look at them with disapproval. “Dude was gonna die anyways.”

He holsters his blaster and gives Broysc’s dead body a cold look, “If you’re going to complain, is there somewhere you would have prefered me to shoot him?”

“Coulda shot him in the dick,” she replies, “that would have been hilarious.”

“I suppose that’s why I _didn’t_ ask you beforehand.” Quinn says cooly.

Gimrizh takes a few steps towards the corpse lying on the warehouse floor and then gives Broysc’s body a kick for good measure. While she knows she could never hate the man with the same intensity that Quinn does, she still despises him. What a pitiful excuse for a Moff. A half-mad idiot who tried to destroy Quinn out of spite and prideful egomania. His death is greatly satisfying and she has to admit, being the one to drag him here had been her pleasure. Not quite as much as being able to watch Quinn execute him, but still.

“We have a body to deal with,” she decides, “Meet up at _Horizon_?”

Vette and Jaesa exchange looks. “Actually,” Vette says hesitantly, “If it’s all the same with you, I have a couple things I’d like to do here. Tivva says she might have a lead on where our mom is and even if it turns out to be nothing, I’ve got to stay here and see, right? Shouldn’t take too long, I guess, if you need me back at the ship all I’ll need is a day.”

“Take all the time you need,” Gimrizh assures her. It’s not her place to get between Vette and her sister, and she knows that Vette’s got remnants of a life here, bits and pieces that she’s holding onto.

“If Vette’s staying for a few days, then I’d like to as well,” Pierce adds, “Couple of the old gang are here right now. We aren’t often in the same place at the same time.”

Jaesa gives Gimrizh a meaningful look, “And I have business with… well, there’s someone on Hutta I’d like to meet. And I can’t be accompanied by you on this, master, I must go to the planet alone.”

So Jaesa’s found a light-sided Sith that she believes can be turned to her cause. She’s right, Gimrizh can’t go with her for this. This mission is Jaesa’s alone for now. So if Vette and Pierce are remaining on Nar Shaddaa, and Jaesa’s going to Hutta, it looks as though they’ll all be separated for a while. Gimrizh has to return to Dromund Kaas. She ran off from her posting on Balmorra and then headed straight to Nar Shaddaa to hunt down Broysc, Baras might be utterly livid with her right now.

“It seems as though we’re splitting up. I must return to Kaas City, but I won’t insist that any of you come with me. Stay here as long as you need to, and we’ll rendezvous back on Dromund Kaas within two weeks.” She pauses, and then asks, “Quinn, if there’s anywhere you’d like to go…”

He shakes his head, “My lord, I’d rather accompany you to Kaas City, if that’s acceptable.”

“Alright,” she agrees, a pleasant warmth curling in her stomach at his response, “Then Kaas City - two weeks from now. Try and stay out of trouble. Vette, that means you.”

“Oh come _on_ ,” Vette pouts, “Have a little faith.”

Gimrizh crosses her arms, “I’ll give you a little faith if you help me dump the body?”

“Yeah, _no_ ,” Vette replies immediately.

“Then stay out of trouble,” she reiterates, “I shall see you all in two weeks. Good luck, and may the force be with you.”

~*~

“Look,” Vette tries, really actually tries, “I know this is some force mumbo-jumbo crap and I don’t understand a good two thirds of it, but that doesn’t mean I can’t come with you.”

Jaesa’s holding both her hands like they’re the only things grounding her to the moon right now, “You can’t. If I go down there with you, then it’s no longer a conversation between two light-side Sith. It’ll be something else entirely. I’m already worried enough that he’ll be scared by my approach, I’m not going to let the situation become one that could result in you getting hurt. You _can’t_ come with me. Not this time.”

Letting Jaesa go is so much harder than she had expected, “I’d go anywhere for you. Anywhere, to some shitty swamp on Hutta, back to Korriban, Ryloth, _anywhere_. All you’d need to do is ask me and I’d be there.”

“I know,” Jaesa says softly, “That’s why I’m not asking.”

Vette steals another kiss as the shuttle pilot sounds the last call, “Love ya. Stay safe.”

“I will. I’ll be back before you know it,” she promises.

And then Jaesa’s boarding the shuttle and the ramp is closing and Vette’s left standing in an empty hangar bay. Why did she have to go and fall in love with someone who seems to have a destiny larger and grander than any ship Vette’s ever walked on? Even so, she wouldn’t have it any other way. She focuses on that feeling, that deep seated love, and lets it well up in her, knowing that Jaesa will always be able to feel that.

At least Jaesa’s only a few hours away on Hutta. How long can talking to one guy take, really?

Vette sticks her hands in her pockets and meanders towards the edge of the Mezenti. A taxi takes her over the glittering expanse of spacescrapers and speeders and floating sky palaces, a world filled with Hutts and spice at first glance and filled with _everything_ at a second. She used to love this moon. Still does, but with reservations and taking into account the fact that it’s now been demoted to third favorite place ever. Second place goes to _Horizon_ , and first goes to wherever Jaesa happens to be.

The taxi drops her off at the Promenade and zips away behind her.

Stars, she never really notices how much she misses Nar Shaddaa until she returns. For the longest time, she didn’t have a home, and then suddenly this shitty moon became the closest approximation that she had. Now that she’s got a real proper home, it feels different. Like walking past a ship she used to fly many years ago but can still remember where all the controls are and every detail of it’s engines. It’s nostalgic in a way she never expected it to be.

Even now, running her hands over the entrance panel to Darun’s cantina. The metal beneath her fingertips feels _older_. It’s not sad or painful, but it’s a reminder that she can’t go back. Time can’t be unwritten.

Tivva grins at her as she steps into the cantina, “It’s good to see you. Did you get my message?”

“Loud and clear,” Vette drops her bag on the counter and slides into one of the familiar bar stools. She stretches her hands above her head and gives Darun a thumbs up as he places a glass in front of her. “What is this?” she asks, taking a sip, “This is _not_ alcohol?”

The Togruta laughs, “Kid, it’s the early afternoon. No day drinking today. That’s just soda.”

“I hate you?” she says, overly indignant, “I trusted you and now _this_? How dare you betray me in such a manner?”

“Force, Vette, I try to be a decent person and not serve a tiny sprog hard liquor at one o’clock and this is what I get?” He practically doubles over from laughter, “Drink your damn free soda and save your liver the pain.”

She actually likes soda and can’t resist grinning at him as she takes a straw and blows bubbles into the drink, “You’re a good man.”

“He is,” Tivva agrees, “Good enough to put me up.”

Darun waves it off, “Eh, it’s nothing. I got the room and you’re a damn good hand at tending the till. Besides, I’ve seen what can happen to pretty Twi’lek girls on this moon. At least I ain’t Hutt-affiliated.”

Vette tips her glass, “I’ll toast to that.”

“I never want to see a Hutt again and they’re everywhere on this damn moon. Everywhere in the nearby systems.” Tivva glares into her own glass of soda, “I’m not Hutt property anymore, but living here, I might as well be. They’re like sarlacc pits, they just consume everything around them - a drain on the life of this sector.”

Shit, Vette knew Tivva hated Hutts, but she didn’t think it was this bad. There’s a pit in the base of Vette’s stomach that burns with anger towards the Hutts at all times, but it’s muted and barely there. Tivva’s is a furnace that propels her forward. She’s not going to say that her sister’s wrong for feeling that way, but it sure as hell doesn’t lead to a happy life. “You could leave, you know. I could help you find some place else. Somewhere in the Republic maybe, a core planet.”

Tivva shakes her head, “I can’t look for mother in the core. Too few solid information sources, too much red tape. Besides, I don’t have the proper papers to be living in the core.”

“True,” Vette hesitantly agrees. Slave records aren’t exactly meticulous, and as far as the Republic is concerned, Tivva probably doesn’t exist. Can’t get a decent job on Coruscant if you’re an ex-slave, and if you get a non-decent job, then Tivva’s just stepping back into the world of crime that she wants to avoid.

“Dry your eyes, kids,” Darun comments, wiping down glasses with a rag that’s seen better days, “It ain’t so bad here and the two of you have had it a lot worse.”

True that. “Sure as hell we have.” She smiles at her sister, “So, you said that you have a lead? Cause I gotta ask, two hundred thousand is krething insane. We could buy mom a dozen times over with that kind of money.”

“My source says she has a lead, but needs that money before she can hand it over,” Tivva insists, “I was sceptical too, but this is the only lead we’ve had so far. We can’t pass it up.”

Darun whistles, “ _Damn_. Take my advice, don’t fork over that cash. Anyone charging you that much is ripping you off.”

Tivva sniffs indignantly, “I already have a meeting set up. Three days from now.”

“Alright,” Vette holds up a finger, “But! If it seems shady, we try another route. I can always hire the same guy that I used before to find you. He seemed a decent sort, didn’t rip me off too much, and got the job done.”

Tivva pushes her hand away with much more anger than anticipated, “I can do this on my own.”

Oh no, that is _so not_ what this conversation is about. “She’s _our_ mother,” Vette reminds her, “You don’t _have_ to do it alone. You’re not a slave anymore, you can rely on me.”

“ _Can_ I?” Tivva demands, angrily slamming her chair back to leap to her feet, “You showed up, set me free with the help of some weird Sith, and then you just left. A holo every week isn’t the same as having a sister! I don’t know where you are, or what you’re doing, and you’re always gone! What did you _do,_ Vette? Take my collar off me just to put it on yourself and hand the controller over to the Empire? I thought you _hated_ the Empire, and now you’re apparently so close to them and the Sith, it’s like I don’t know you anymore!”

“That’s absurd! Do you even know what Gimrizh did for me?” Vette’s standing now too, only peripherally aware that she’s yelling at her own sister, “She _freed_ me first! She gave me the money to free you! Sith are paying for this ridiculous two thousand credit finders fee!”

Tivva looks repulsed, “What did the Sith want from you, if they were willing to fork over that kind of money? Stars, Ce’na, I thought you were better than that! Just because one of them is alright, doesn’t mean that they all are! If some Sith is giving you money then I thought you were clever enough to make sure they don’t have shitty motives! You’re trusting people who are going to screw you over -”

“Shut up!” Vette screams, “ _Jaesa_ gave me this money, you damn idiot! She’d _never_ have an ulterior motive for giving it to me, _never_! And for the last time, my name is _Vette_!”

Darun steps in between the two of them, “Not in my cantina. Come on. You’re _sisters_. Act like it.”

For a second she thinks that maybe Tivva isn’t going to say anything more, but then her face contorts into rage and she yells, “You’re a hypocrite! For all your talk about helping Ryloth - you abandoned it! You abandoned your name, Ce’na! Abandoned who you are! How much did you _hate_ being a Twi’lek that you gave up on the name our mother gave you!?”

“Tivva!” Darun barks out, “That is enough, young lady! Go to your room!”

Tivva storms into the back room and they can hear her footsteps banging on the stairs.

Soda just isn’t going to cut it. Vette heads behind the bar and pours herself a shot of vodka, “Fuck.” She downs her glass and buries her head in her hands, “Stars, Darun, when did you become her dad?”

“The first week after she moved in,” he tells her, “You commed twice, your gang skipped town to go treasure hunting after a few days, and she had no one”

Vette sighs and wishes that the answers were taped to the ceiling, “She’s _always_ done this. Pushed people away, tried to be _so_ independent. She can’t keep doing this, acting like she doesn’t want help and then getting angry when people don’t do what she wants.”

“You could always stay with her for a bit?” Darun proposes, taking the vodka bottle out of her hand and putting it away.

“Can’t,” Vette admits, “It wouldn’t help her get used to it. She’d just be even more pissed when I leave. And I’ve gotta leave. I can’t stay here, Darun, you know that. I’m not built to stay places, it’s not my way. I’ve got a team and a home and a beautiful woman waiting for me, and hells, if that happens to be on an Imperial ship, then that’s where I’ll go. I hate the Empire too, but I can’t ignore them.”

He does that thing, where he just nods along without actually agreeing or disagreeing with her. “I’ve got the time and location for that little meet she’s going to,” he says, scribbling it down on a spare sheet of flimsy, “You should show up. Just in case, you know?”

She trades him the sheet for a credit chip, “For my tab. And thanks. You’re the best sort of bastard, Darun.”

“You’re a good kid,” he replies, “Don’t forget that.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself,” she says on her way out, and she’s not even sure it’s a joke.

~*~

Foris steps into a shitty club near the Corellian sector. There’s a burnt out bouncer droid that waves him in without protest and he makes his way through the loud, smokey room to a corner table that his team has claimed.

It’s been a long time since he’s seen his old squad back together. The first few years after they’d gotten disbanded, they’d tried to meet up every few months and then it had been once a year, and then nothing. Higher ups didn’t want the group full of people who specialized in fucking shit up getting any ideas, and started posting them on far apart assignments. Foris got dumped on Taris, Lorant was shifted over to Moff Galvan, Tanido was sent to Tatooine, and Arlos has been stuck behind a desk on Kaas City.

“Boss,” Tanido says in greeting, sliding a pink flirtini over the table for him, “Good to see you in person for once.”

Foris sinks into the open chair and hangs up his rifle on the back, “Same. Been a long couple of years, ain’t it?”

“Sure as hell it’s been a while,” Lorant says. She and Tanido grin at each other and then she asks, “Alright, so the three of us have been placing bets. Who they hell are you fucking with right now? You got _both_ of us to help slice some guy’s datapad, and it was encoded to Hoth and back. I took another look after we finished and it had some standard lines of code that a lot of Imperial programs use. Some stuff Tanido’s used in the past, too.”

Arlos looks nervous, "Yeah, that sounds like you're trying to get dirt on one of our own. I don’t know, boss..."

"Yeah and did you try to blow this guy up?" Tanido asks, "Or was that a separate issue?"

Actually, what _did_ happen to the Barsen’thor? Probably still stuck in a jail cell under Kilran’s thumb, and regardless, it’s out of Foris’s hands now. “That was unrelated.” That’s a promising thought though. Putting a slave chip in Quinn. Nah, Gimrizh would be pissed as fuck. Better not. “And I’m just looking into someone on my crew. The captain. He’s a real ass, and I don’t trust him one damn bit.”

Lorant looks at him like he’s an idiot, “This is the crew that has a Sith on it, correct? Did you get permission from this Sith before hand or…?”

Not like asking Gimrizh would accomplish anything. He’s not going to bring any accusations against Quinn before her without solid proof. Foris shrugs, “Not really. Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s trying to sleep with him.”

Poor Arlos starts choking.

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Tanido declares. He throws back his drink, “Stars, boss, we all know you’re crazy, but this is a new level.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Foris tells them, “If you’re going to be a wimp, then stay out of it.”

Lorant rolls her eyes, “Yup, we’re staying out. Stop asking us to help out with anything related to some crazy Sith or the rest of it. I’d rather spend my time doing literally anything else.”

“Like _what_?” he retorts.

Tanido has to hold her back, “ _I_ have a _job_! Fucking fight me, Pierce!” she snarls.

“Hey there,” Tanido pulls her back into her seat, “Let’s not have a murder tonight, okay? I’m pretty sure we get kicked out of here if we start throwing punches. Save your righteous fury for the next time you get to fight a pub. Settle down and let’s get to business. Arlos, didn’t you say you have some news?”

They all reluctantly sit back down and Lorant wraps her neatly manicured nails a bit too tightly around her glass. It’s too bad she’s stuck in the position she is, really. She used to be krething vicious on the battlefield. All of them are force-damn wasted in the positions they’re in. Foris had been stuck in a shit posting on Taris till Lord Gimrizh picked him up, and the rest of his team didn’t have a Sith to drop them back into the action.

Arlos clears his throat, “Right. I um, picked up a bit of chatter a few months back. Remember the Bastion?”

As if he could forget. They were going to wipe the floor with the Republic and walk right in there, the biggest Imperial victory Corellia would have seen. Then the war ended, they got disbanded, and all the carefully laid plans they’d made got swept under the rug as Moffs picked up the pieces of black ops. Foris still wishes they’d had that chance. That could have gotten black ops the respect and leeway that they need.

“Of course we remember the krething Bastion,” Lorant says, waving him on, “Get to the point.”

“Right,” Arlos coughs, “sorry. Look, so I don’t know if this is completely accurate, but I’ve _heard_ that General Rakton is trying to take the Bastion again. Now that the war has moved to Corellia, they’re reconsidering it as a target and since Rakton is in charge of that section… Well, I don’t know if he’s going to make a move. But it looks likely.”

A hush falls over the four of them as they all consider what this could mean. “Have they considered a team?” Tanido asks.

Arlos shakes his head, “I don’t know. I don’t think so?”

“The Bastion is _ours_ ,” Foris declares, slamming his fist down on the table, “No one else’s. We know that place better than any other team, we’ve still got the equipment from the war to bring it down. If Rakton puts another squad on that mission? They’ll fail.” That fortress is theirs by _right_ , damn it.

Tanido’s nodding along, “I saved some of the tech I wanted to use. Been tinkering on it for years, but haven’t got rid of it.”

“I still have the old floor plans,” Arlos admits.

“That was going to be our crowning achievement,” Lorant says bitterly, “Then they split us up and tossed us into shit positions. You’re lucky you got out of Taris when you did, Pierce. The rest of us didn’t get it that easy. If we’ve got another chance we need to do krething _everything_ we can to grab it.”

“So,” Tanido drains his shot glass, “what are we going to do?”

They all look at each other. Tanido can’t do shit on Tatooine, and Arlos is just a techie with no real power or influence. Which leaves Foris and Lorant, really.

Lorant glares at all of them, “I’m the last resort here, let’s just make things clear.”

So just Foris then. “Not sure what Lord Gimrizh can do, but I’ll ask. See if she can push it forward. She does have an in with Grand Moff Kilran. Maybe that’ll yield some results.”

Tanido blinks stupidly, “Okay how the _fuck_ do you have an in with the _Grand Moff_? I didn’t even know that was _possible_ until now. What kind of crazy bullshit are you getting up to on that Sith’s crew?”

“Classified,” Foris replies, “You _wish_ you had enough clearance to know.”

“I think I can live with that, actually,” he says, “What you’re getting up to is just insane. Rather not get murdered by a Sith.”

No confidence in him at all. Foris should be offended. As if he’d let himself get offed by Gimrizh. To be frank, he’s not sure she’s got it in her. Not to say she can’t be brutal, but she doesn’t direct it towards her crew, and he can tell that if it came down to it, she’d save the rest of them before even considering saving herself. It’s a good quality to have in a commanding office. Don’t want to serve under someone who’ll order their crew to do what they aren’t willing to do themselves. “I can handle myself.”

“Just do your part to get us back in the field,” Lorant grumbles.

“I’ll ask,” he tells them, “Can’t promise anything, but I’ll ask.”

Tanido reaches across the table to fist bump, “You’re a good man, boss! Knew you’d be able to help us out. Now, I’m supposed to be on a _Harrower_ out of here at oh five hundred, and I’d like to get shitfaced before I leave.”

~*~

Jaesa slowly makes her way through the marshes of Hutta. The shuttles from Nar Shaddaa only go as far as Jiguuna, and she’s hesitant to draw attention to herself by hiring a speeder or taking a taxi. Secrecy is of the utmost importance for her mission. She’s not supposed to be here, and if she gets caught, she’s likely to endanger herself, her master, and the Sith that she’s been following.

The Sith is Ker’ah Jun, a pureblood that’s been serving the Empire and the Sith Order without distinction for thirty years. He fought in the war for three months before being transferred to an Institute on Korriban and taking up the position of Overseer. Then he’d quit after the war ended and worked in the administrative sector in Kaas City, and then after the war restarted, he’d asked to be reassigned to Hutt space.

Now he’s a liaison between Nem’ro the Hutt and the Empire, an altogether useless position that requires little. Nem’ro likes flattery and bounty hunters, two things that Ker’ah isn’t in the best person to provide.

His force signature burns a solid day’s travel away, but she’s determined. Everything that she read from him speaks of someone who’s been disgusted with the Empire’s casual attitude towards sacrifice, a person who’d rather avoid war. That’s the sort of person they need on their side. They aren’t looking to be fighting, just working their way up through the system.

Jaesa can do this. She can prove to her master - herself - that she’s a worthwhile part of this crew, that she can carry her own weight. That she can help. When Master Gimrizh took her as her apprentice, Jaesa promised herself that she’d do whatever she could to assist her master. So far, she’s just been an extra lightsaber to have around. If she can succeed here, she’ll prove that she can earn her place on the crew. She can do something meaningful.

The force is her guide. She won’t fail here.

~*~

Thutrel dodges, ducks, and then cuts down the training droid in front of him without pause. Mercy is not acceptable. Mercy is weakness.

 _Good_.

Task finished, he bows to Overseer Chaskar as is required. The green of his lightsaber fades away and he cannot quite understand if the color is wrong or not. His mind pushes the thought to the side. It isn’t welcome here. His thoughts run sluggish, as if trudging through a mire, and following commands is far easier than - no, easy isn’t right, this isn’t - easier than protesting or trying to fight the orders he is given.

He heads down the hallways to his quarters, his training is over for the day -

 _Always train, my dear nephew. A skill is never fully mastered_ -

The voice hurts, so much different from the cloy and deep commands that usually pulse through his mind. He has to stop, lean against the wall and press a hand to his temples. It needs to go away, it shouldn’t be here! Shouldn’t be in this dark place, that voice belongs to the sunlight and the open air, not -

_Remember the sea, Thutrel._

“Go away!” he mutters desperately, wishing it gone. “Please!”

Silence sweeps through the halls, and he should know right away that something is wrong. The fortress is never silent, always there is the hum of machines, the distant sounds of droids at work, footsteps a few rooms away.

This silence is a curtain that wraps around his world and suddenly everything is plunged into darkness.

He can feel gentle hands around his eyes. They grab hold of something and pull it away, ripping off a shroud that Thutrel didn’t even know was there.

He breathes.

A third voice now, different, but familiar, “ _Don’t let him win. You are stronger than his influences. We have pulled away his presence for now, but it will return. Fight!_ ”

The shroud of power that has been clouding his mind for so long is lifted, and with its absence, Thutrel can clearly see the threads of the Emperor’s influence that have been wrapped around him all this time. He shreds them from his heart, casting them aside and stepping away from the tendrils in case they try and drag him back.

“Master Orgus?” he asks tentatively, trying to identify the voice of his former master, “What’s happening?”

“ _The Emperor cloaked your mind in darkness. Made you do his will. You’ve been his pawn, but now_ ,” Orgus promises _, “you are free._ ”

Thutrel chokes on the thought. It buries in his throat and refuses to leave. He fell, after everything, he fell. Oh stars, please let it not be true. After everything, he refuses to return to that place of darkness.

“ _He overpowered you all,"_ Orgus says softly, “ _What you did, it was not your fault. That much darkness would have taken over much stronger Jedi than you. Do not hold it against yourself. Now you must listen. You’re still aboard the Emperor’s fortress. The enemy is everywhere, but they think you serve them. Keep your true nature secret. Find a way out. Your dark ally will help._ ”

The familiar presence of Master Orgus begins to fade, and with it, Thutrel can feel the cold of the fortress return, “Wait, please! That other voice…”

“ _Do not listen to the words of the Emperor_ ,” Orgus warns, “ _He can offer you nothing that is truly real_.”

“No!” Thutrel shakes his head, “Not the Emperor! There was another! They took off the blindfold, they - “

Orgus is gone.

But Thutrel isn’t standing on the station, he’s still surrounded by blackness, and there’s someone else in here with him. From the dark, a woman steps forward. She’s stern faced and serene and he weeps to see her.

" _My dear nephew_ ,” Aunt Yulair says.

He falls to his knees, tears streaming from his eyes, “I am so sorry. I fell again, I couldn’t stop myself. All I wanted was to help, to do my duty to the Republic as you did, and I -”

A warmth touches his cheek and she whispers, “ _You haven’t failed. Remember the sea._ ”

The old memory of himself as a young boy staring at three buckets on the shoreline surfaces. He had been a resentful angry teenager, hurtling himself down the path to the dark side. Then his aunt had brought him to the sea and left him there for hours. She left him there until he had learned the lesson that no other Jedi had been able to teach him.

Like the waves, the memory washes over him and he returns to himself.

He’s kneeling on the floor of the Emperor’s fortress and he’s supposed to be a Sith. He scrambles to his feet and knows what he has to do. Play along, play the part, and when the time is right and the force wills it, he’ll break away.

~*~

Gimrizh wakes up in a cold sweat. There’s a scream trapped somewhere in her throat and her hands claw at her bed sheets. Once she gets her heart rate down to something reasonable, she rubs the sleep from her eyes. She peers through the dark of her quarters to stare at the slowly blinking light of her chrono. It’s still early morning.

That had been a peculiar nightmare. Her usual fare consists of being murdered by Jedi, or more recently, being left to rot in a Republic cell. This had been… strange.

She’d been surrounded by the pull of the dark side and also… not. There’d been pain but also soft voices that whispered in her ears. She can’t remember what was said, it’s all fading as dreams inevitably do, but she holds onto a single scrap.

 _Remember the sea_.

The woman who’d said it had been familiar. Not as though she’d ever met her. Instead it felt like she’d seen the strange woman in a holo somewhere, or had met a relative of hers. A relationship that should be there but isn’t. A connection that was almost made once, a long time ago.

Even as she tries to grasp at the remnants of the dream, they slip through her fingers like sand. She thinks of sand, coarse and cold and dry, lingering between her fingers after a day on the plateaus of Korriban. This dream had been wet sand, warm from the sun and clinging to salt water from an ocean. She's never been to a place that felt like that so where did the memory come from?

She slides out of bed and sleepily makes her way to the bridge.

They're still in hyperspace. Dromund Kaas is a day's more travel away, and they should be docking sometime in the evening, given that it's now only five in the morning. A disgustingly early hour to be conscious at.

Toovee is plugged into the terminal for the night shift, but since she is technically awake, she boots him off the system and lets him power down. The droid clatters off to the cargo hold where he seems to prefer being asleep in. What is being powered down like for droids? It must be the same as being asleep in sentients, although artificially induced. It must be nice to be able to turn everything off.

There’s nothing that can really be done while they’re in hyperspace. She runs through a basic system check and wastes a few minutes spinning around the holo galaxy map, watching the blinking dot that is the ship move closer towards Dromund Kaas. Then she resigns herself to an early morning and curls up in one of the chairs.

“My lord?” Quinn asks quietly, stepping onto the bridge, “Is there a reason you’re awake at five in the morning?”

Clearly she’s just woken him up. He’s still wearing a rumpled shirt and sweatpants, but his uniform jacket is slung over his shoulder in a half-hearted effort to be presentable. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she says, “Was I being too loud?”

“Of course not,” he replies, “I had my datapad set to alert me if Toovee left his shift before seven.”

That makes a lot more sense than her being noisy, actually. “I didn’t think of that. My apologies. I can watch the bridge until it’s a more reasonable hour.”

Instead of leaving to go back to sleep, he drapes his jacket over her shoulders and takes the seat across from her. “A ship in hyperspace isn’t the warmest place to be. You’ll catch a cold, especially since you aren’t wearing a shirt. Now, is there something wrong? You’re usually not awake until nine.”

Fair point. She tugs the jacket closer, not having realized how cold she was until now. “Just a strange dream. I was wondering,” she thinks back to the feeling of the dream, the constant weight of the dark side that she could sense, pressing in on all sides as she had never felt before, “does anyone know where the Emperor is?”

“No,” he replies, almost uneasy, “The Dark Council claims to have some idea, but there’s never been any evidence to that fact. There are rumors, of course. Nothing concrete.”

“We had theories, back on Korriban. Not that the overseers knew,” she adds, “Some people said that he used the force to become incorporeal, being everywhere at once. The pureblood kids thought he had a palace somewhere, like a floating space station, or a massive star destroyer.” The thought that this is all borderline treasonous speculation occurs to her a bit too late to stop her from remembering, “Yaina said that he’s been dead for years.”

Quinn laces his fingers together and asks, “What’s your opinion on the matter, my lord?”

“I don’t think he’s dead,” she says. Nothing in the galaxy could kill a person like that. Not even old age. Someone who’s done what their Emperor has done isn’t someone that could die. “I don’t know why he’s silent, I mean,” she hastily changes that line of thought, “people say he’s silent. I think he’s still out there, somewhere. Not on Dromund Kaas, or Korriban, not somewhere that people could find him easily. But I think that he’s still in control. What do you think? Do you think he’s dead?”

“I don’t think that it matters,” he replies, after a long moment of consideration, “If he’s alive, then he’s not choosing to make his presence known. What changes if he is dead?” He suddenly seems to remember that she’s a Sith, “Forgive me, my lord. I don’t mean to be doubtful of the Emperor, you know as well as any what the Empire means to me, I merely meant…”

She understands. “If the Empire can function without the Emperor directly supervising, then what is he needed for?”

He slowly nods, “Your words, not mine, but in essence… yes.”

“I’m exceptionally glad that I don’t have to deal with the answers to these sorts of questions,” she admits, “To be honest, I don’t think I’m suited for command. Down here, I don’t have to be placed in charge of those difficult questions.” She stifles a yawn, “Guess I’m lazy.”

“You should go back to sleep, my lord,” he says, looking very much like he’d prefer to be asleep too.

She yawns again and gets to her feet, “Alright. I’m keeping your jacket though.”

~*~

“I don’t believe you,” Ker’ah says, igniting his lightsaber, “I won’t be dragged back to Korriban or Dromund Kaas for your masters - I won’t let you try and trick me!”

Jaesa falters, falling back, “No, please, I’m being sincere. If you would please -”

Without hesitation, he brings his lightsaber down on her and she doesn’t have any choice but to activate her own, locking their blades to keep herself from being cut down. She pushes him off, hoping to get him to take a step back and calm down, hoping that she can still speak to him with reason. Hopes that are crushed as he rushes her and slashes out again and again.

She knocks his blade to the side, but he doesn’t - he steps in -

With the most horrible noise, her lightsaber sinks into his heart.

“No, no,” she drops her weapon and catches his body as he falls, “please, no, you can’t die, _please_!”

It’s too late. She can feel the life force leave his body, fading away. No, this isn’t how it was supposed to go - he was supposed to listen to her - she was going to prove to her master and herself that she could do something right, that she could _help_ \- she was supposed to help _him_ and instead he didn’t -

She can’t stop crying as she gently lays his body down, wrapping his hands around his lightsaber, the only thing she can do for him now.

~*~

Vette shows up at the cantina five minutes before the deal is supposed to go down. It’s a shifty little place in the red light district, and the flimsy Darun gave her told her to wait out by the back, so that’s where she is. Whoever Tivva found, they’re sketchy as hell. Vette side-eyes a dumpster and leans against the cleanest patch of dirty, graffiti covered wall.

Not a minute later, Tivva shows up.

“Oh,” she says, looking resentfully down at her feet, “You came. Guess it was too much to hope that Darun wouldn’t have told you.”

Vette bites her lip, “Listen, Tivva… I’m sorry I yelled at you the other day, alright? You didn’t know what my situation is like and you were right to be concerned. Hells, if it had been the other way around, I probably would have been just as pissed. I know you want to prove that you can do this by yourself. For what it’s worth, I think you don’t need to prove anything to me. I’m not doing anything better or worse than you are with my freedom.”

“I know, I know,” Tivva grumbles, “I’m not really that mad at you. I’m mad at the Hutts and the Empire, and sometimes it seems like you’re on the same side as they are.”

That’s a cringe-worthy thought. “Stars, no,” Vette assures her, “Look, I work with the Empire really loosely. Come on, you know that Gimrizh is Zabrak, it’s not exactly like I’m working with all that speciesism bullshit. The Empire isn’t _good_ , but to be honest? The Republic is pretty shit too. Not as bad, not as racist, but they aren’t some fancy ideal. No where’s a good place to be. And for the record? I’d _never_ work for or with the Hutts.”

“Yeah, I kinda figured.” Tivva shrugs and moves a few inches closer to Vette, leaning next to her against the side of the cantina, “It’d be easier not to get mad at you if you weren’t gone all the damn time.”

She’s not going to though. Maybe it’d help Tivva, maybe it wouldn’t, but either way, they need to make their own lives. “Sorry, sis. I love you, I really do, but my place is out there.”

To her surprise, Tivva smiles, “You probably don’t remember, but when you were little, before we all got sold, you were always running after ships. Drove Mother mad. She kept having to keep you inside or at work whenever the bosses would drive through the slums. You’re still chasing stars, aren’t you?”

“Well you were always clinging to Mom’s skirts,” Vette teases.

“I guess,” Tivva agrees, the tension fading from her shoulders, “Some things have stayed the same, huh?”

Not enough things. They still don’t have Mother back. Still missing a key member of what strange family they’ve got left, “Do you ever think that maybe we could change all this?”

“Change what?” she scoffs, “Slavery? Speciesism?”

“Yeah,” It’s something Vette’s been thinking over more often than she should. What with Jaesa’s revolutionary talk, and the fact that she’s working with two Sith powerhouses, the thought has occurred to her. “All of it. Make it so we didn’t have to find Mother - she’d never have been lost and all.”

Her sister doesn’t share her enthusiasm, “We’re two Twi’leks. All we can do for now is try and keep our family together.”

“Wow, no idealism _at all_ ,” Vette remarks.

The both of them fall silent as they hear footsteps echo in the alley. “Well, hey!” An gruff female voice calls out, “I see you showed up, cutie, and you brought a friend!”

Vette rolls her eyes. And Tivva was pissed at _her_ for the mere implication that she might have slept with Jaesa for the money. Oh stars. Her sister’s got to grow up sometime. Vette does question Tivva’s taste thought. This woman is a Rattataki, scrawny and lean looking, with a grin that seems a bit too sharp and toothy to be safe.

“She’s my sister,” Tivva replies, not returning the Rattataki’s smile.

The woman nods, raking her eyes up and down Vette’s body, “Whole family. Alright. I’m flexible.”

“And I’m taken,” Vette snaps back.

The Rattataki laughs, “Yeesh, I wasn’t asking for your history. Besides, ‘taken’ is just another word for ‘don’t tell’.”

Vette mimes gagging, feeling all grossed out already, “Yeah, not going to happen. Look, we’re not here for your charming personality, okay? We just want the information on our Mother, then we can all go our respective ways without bitch-slapping one another.”

“Do you have two hundred thousand?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips. Vette becomes suddenly and uneasily aware of the blaster rifle that the woman is carrying.

“We do,” Tivva says.

Vette lays a hand on her sister’s shoulder before they hand over anything, “We want to see the information first. We’ll tell you where the money is after we have our Mother’s location.”

“Uh, _no_ ,” the Rattataki replies, “Money first, info second.”

Yup this is going to go to shit. Vette _knew_ this was a bad idea and as satisfying as it is to be proven right, she’d really rather take a safe, not sketchy deal instead. Why can’t they have nice things for once? “Alrighty,” Vette takes comfort in the presence of her two beloved blasters, “Let’s part ways then. Doesn’t look like this is going to work out.”

The Rattataki’s flippant grin turns a sour glare. “Sorry, cuties, it doesn’t work like that. You hand over the money, and then maybe, if I’m feeling generous, I’ll pass along some information for you and let you live. How does _that_ sound?”

At Vette’s prompting, Tivva slides a few inches back. “Come on,” Vette says cautiously, “doesn’t need to be this way.”

“Then hand over the two hundred thousand,” she replies, daring them.

“Kaliyo!”

They all freeze - fuck - Vette didn’t hear anyone sneak up on them, where the _hell_ did the new addition come from?

A Chiss woman slinks out of the shadows, her footsteps silent, not even a rustle of clothing. This newcomer isn’t armed, not visibly anyway, but Vette is absolutely certain that she is much more dangerous than the Rattataki - Kaliyo, that is. The Chiss doesn’t even look displeased, she just frowns emotionlessly at Kaliyo, “Explain.”

“Bit of fun,” Kaliyo replies, “This Tivva chick was practically _screaming_ all over the holonet, I just took the bait. A million other scoundrels woulda done the same. Besides, she’s cute.”

The Chiss crosses her arms and says in an impassive Dromund Kaas accent, “I don’t recall approving this.”

“Oh come _on_ ,” Kaliyo angrily protests, “You gave me leave! What else am I gonna do?”

“I don’t care. Your leave is over.”

Damn, Vette is so fucking glad that this woman isn’t trying to start a fight. She has the feeling that this Chiss could beat the shit out of all of them without even really trying. “Alrighty, great, we’re just gonna go now,” she says, trying to gracelessly extract her and her sister from the situation.

The Chiss slides her creepy red eyes over and Vette shivers. “How interesting,” she comments, as though something about Vette has sparked her interest. “Kaliyo, stay out of this.” She practically stalks over to Vette, “I have a few questions for you.”

“How about we all just slowly back away and no one gets murdered?” Vette suggests nervously, “I don’t think any of us want to be here, so let’s just-”

“I said, I have a few questions for you,” The Chiss calmly continues. She pulls out a holo projector and, to Vette’s surprise, a small blue image of the krething Barsen’thor appears, “I want to know everything you know about this woman.”

This is so fucking out of Vette’s league it’s not even funny. “Sorry, pal, you got the wrong Twi’lek, I’d try two streets over, in the district of ‘piss off’.”

The Chiss doesn’t even blink, “Ce’na, or is it Vette? Which do you prefer to go by?”

Fuck, she is _so_ screwed, what even _is_ this? “Buddy, I’d back the fuck off, if I were you. If you know my name, then you know I run with two badass Sith, and I’m sure they’d just _love_ to have a few words with you if you keep trying to start shit.”

“Jaesa Willsaam is currently in Jiguuna, down on Hutta,” the Chiss says, cool as a winter day on Hoth, “Gimrizh Korribanil is in hyperspace, en route to Dromund Kaas. You don’t have any backup, and your sister isn’t a trained fighter. If you wish to leave violently, you’d have to sacrifice her, and I _really_ don’t think you have it in you, going by how desperately you two seem to be searching out your mother. Now, all I want is a little bit of information on this woman. Make a _clever_ choice, Vette.”

What did the Barsen’thor ever do for her, anyway? Nothing besides hurt Jaesa for no reason and try to blow Vette up, “Look, I don’t know much. She’s somewhere, probably under Kilran’s thumb, possibly on Dromund Kaas. I never really dealt with her. You’re asking the wrong person if you’re looking for a detailed picture.”

The Chiss clicks the holo closed and puts it away, “That’s quite helpful, I assure you.”

“Who the fuck _are_ you?” Vette asks when it looks like the two are just going to walk away without saying anything more.

“No one at all,” the Chiss replies, a dangerous smirk on her lips.

Then she marches off, as silently as she arrived.

“See ya, cutie!” Kaliyo calls as she follows her boss, “Too bad we couldn’t mash it up!”

As soon as they’re gone, Vette’s knees go weak, “Holy fucking…” She takes a few deep breaths that don’t do much, “That woman is krething _terrifying_.”

“I barely understood what was happening and she scared the shit out of me,” Tivva comments, still staring at the patch of street that the Chiss disappeared into.

Vette gets her heart rate under control, “Okay. So that didn’t work. I uh… I can try that bounty hunter again?”

“Sure, yeah,” Tivva readily agrees, “Anything’s got to be better than that.”

They stand there awkwardly for a minute, “Want me to walk with you back to Darun’s place?”

“Nah,” her sister says, tugging her jacket closer to her, as if to stave off the shivers from their encounter, “I’ll be fine. Comm me when there’s more information, and say bye before you jump planet. Don’t do that thing where you just vanish into the hyperplanes without a word, okay?”

She gives her sister a hug, “Hey, I’m not going anywhere for a couple of days.”

And then they go their separate ways, Tivva towards the sky trains that provide a direct express to the Promenade, and Vette to a taxi that’ll take her back to the hotel she’s staying at.

It’s a short but painfully uncomfortable taxi ride to the fancy hotel she’s paying for with Gimrizh’s money. Who the _hell_ is that Chiss woman? Does Gimrizh know that there’s some creepy spy constantly aware of her location? Does _Jaesa_? And what in the Corellian hells does that woman want with the Barsen’thor? It isn’t as though the Jedi is a threat to the Empire anymore, and she’s pretty sure that the Chiss is an imp, going by the accent and the fact that the Chiss Ascendency is the Empire’s only non-human or non-pureblood ally.

She sinks into her seat, letting the stress bleed out of her. What a krething nightmare. She’s just glad that she and Tivva walked out of there with all their limbs intact.

At least the bounty hunter Oren did a decent job last time. He found Tivva without demanding a ridiculous sum of credits, and he delivered without trying to stab her in the back. Should be a good person to go to for a second job. It’s too bad that the regular Imperial databases keep few to no records on slaves. Otherwise Vette could just do the thing herself, without needing to bring in outside help.

She breathes a sigh of relief when she reaches her hotel. Pierce is probably still gone, but there’s a feeling of comfort that she gets when she can fuck around in a fancy-ass place like this on someone else’s credit chip. She’s not cheap necessarily, she’s just opportunistic and Gimrizh doesn’t seem to give a damn what’s done with her money.

It all comes crashing down when she steps into her room.

Jaesa’s there, standing in front of the window, her shoulder shaking. She turns as soon as Vette enters and there’s horrible tear tracks streaking her cheeks.

“Oh, _Jaesa_ ,” Vette rushes to her side and gently tries to wipe away the tears. Something’s gone terribly wrong, “Are you okay? I mean, obviously you’re not okay - What _happened_?”

“I killed him, I didn’t mean to but - I killed him,” Jaesa says numbly, like she still can’t believe it, “He thought I was lying to him, he attacked - I didn’t want to fight but he was trying to kill me and it was an accident - he’s dead -”

Vette wraps her arms around Jaesa, trying to provide whatever comfort she can, “It’s okay, I promise, it’ll be alright. You’re stronger than this.”

“I killed someone,” Jaesa mutters, “Someone who wasn’t even a threat. Someone on _our_ side.”

She buries her head in the crook of Vette’s neck and clings on for dear life. For a moment, Jaesa just shakes. Vette’s familiar with the concept of friendly fire, but _stars_ she can’t imagine how much more jarring and personal it must be to impale someone with a lightsaber blade than just a stray bolt. This was Jaesa’s project too, not just some mission. It was Jaesa’s _dream_ to find allies on this quest of hers.

“Passion makes me stronger,” Jaesa whispers against her skin, pressing her lips to her neck. She runs a line of kisses down to Vette’s collarbone till she has to pop the buttons on Vette’s shirt, “Let me do _something_ right.”

For a moment, Vette’s brain leaves her as Jaesa starts to tug her bra to the side and desperately trails hot, open mouthed kisses down Vette’s breast. Jaesa rolls her nipple between her teeth and Vette can’t stop her tiny gasp as Jaesa’s hands slide down to her hips. Then Jaesa slips her fingers behind Vette’s waistband and suddenly she returns to her senses.

Vette slowly pushes her back, “I - shit - I’m madly in love with you, but I’m _not_ having sex with you when you’re this distraught.”

“Please,” Jaesa begs, almost devastated, “I just want to make you happy - I want to do something right -”

That’s a damn poor argument, but Vette’s so distracted by the echo of Jaesa’s tongue on her skin that it almost convinces her for a second. One of them has to be sensible about this though, and it looks like Vette’s it. “You’d regret it. I’d regret it. Fuck, you have no idea how much I want you right now, but it’d be a shit thing to do. You’re not okay right now.”

She can see Jaesa draw back into herself, “But - I - Passion is supposed to make me stronger. It’s supposed to break my chains. I love you - shouldn’t that - shouldn’t it count for _something_?”

“I have no clue, I don’t know shit about the force, I’m the wrong person for that,” Vette starts buttoning up her shirt, “I know what being drunk is like, though. You’re in the moment and something seems like a good idea until you’re waking up and realize you fucked up. This isn’t a good idea right now.”

Jaesa collapses on the sofa like her strings have been cut, “... I’ve fucked up, haven’t I?”

“No,” Vette quickly tells her, leaning down to wrap her arms around Jaesa’s shoulders, “You haven’t at all. You’re just not in a good place right now. That’s _nothing_ to be ashamed about, okay?”

"I'm sorry," Jaesa whispers, "I just want to make you happy."

Vette kisses her on the cheek, "You already do. You don't have to do anything, Jaesa. Nothing at all. I already love you."

"How do you do that?" she asks, looking at Vette with the same curiosity in her eyes that's present when she looks at a moon, "It's like you make every problem go away easily."

That's hardly the case. Vette _wishes_ she could actually disappear problems. If she could, every damn slave in the galaxy would be free and she and Jaesa would be living on a mountain of credit chips. "Nah. I just oversimplify things. Stuff looks easier when there's less of it to look at."

"Thank you," she says quietly, "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I'm sure you'd get along just fine," Vette replies, "Now I want you to talk to the boss about this force stuff once we're back on Dromund Kaas, and don't do anything I wouldn't do until you're feeling better. You've had a good cry, that's always a solid start. But this isn't something that'll solve itself."

Jaesa gives her a shaky but nonetheless real smile, "I know. I hate to say it, but this isn't the first ally I've killed. I know how to put myself back together."

"You're amazing, okay?" Vette practically babbles, "Absolutely amazing. I don't say it often enough, you know?"

"Often enough for me to know that you hold my heart in your hands," Jaesa tells her, "I didn't mean to force you, but maybe - maybe we could discuss the issue sometime?"

"Oh - uh," she flounders for a moment, "You mean the 'us having sex thing'?” She laughs, “You know, when I was a kid, I promised my mom that I'd wait till marriage?"

Jaesa's smile becomes something beatific, "Well. Then I guess it's a good thing I'm not going anywhere."

~*~

Gimrizh stands outside of the Sith Sanctum, hesitant to enter. “Wait for me out here, please,” she tells Quinn, “I won’t be long.”

“Of course, my lord,” he replies. She doesn’t move and he gently puts his hand on her shoulder, “Are you alright?”

Baras has called her back and she doesn’t know if he’ll be furious at her for leaving her post on Balmorra, or ready with another emergency mission for her, or about to drop some other bombshell of a revelation on her. The last time they spoke in person was before he sent her to Alderaan, when he warned her not to fail him a second time. She doesn't know if he considers her abandonment of Balmorra to be a failure. “Absolutely terrified.”

For a moment, she’s not sure what Quinn will say, but they both glance around and remember where they are. Surrounded by Sith in the center of Kaas City. “All I can do is wish you luck, my lord,” he says sincerely.

“Thank you.” She steels herself and enters the Sanctum.

It would inevitably be worse if she doesn’t show at all. Best to get it over with when Baras asks instead of making him wait. Usually, she actually quite likes the Sith Sanctum. There’s a comforting dark presence around the entire Citadel, hundreds of dark side users contributing to the undercurrent of the force. It’s familiar, and even though she’s never hated anywhere like she hates Korriban, she has to admit that the feel of the Sanctum that she enjoys is similar to how that despicable planet feels.

Today, the dark side here seems to creep up around her instead. It feels threatening. It doesn’t help that she’s always been aware that she isn’t exactly welcome here. The majority of the Sith here are either human or pureblood and she knows that a good deal of them turn their noses up at her, either pointedly pretending as though she doesn’t exist or going out of their way to glare at her.

It doesn’t normally bother her, but right now she feels as though she’s walking towards an enemy.

Baras’ chambers loom around her as she drops to her knee in front of her master.

“So good of you to finally return to Dromund Kaas,” he says, too hard and too sharp. He sent her to Balmorra to teach her a lesson, to make a point. She left. What does he think she took from that lesson? “I was beginning to wonder if you were planning to steal my ship and take a vacation around the galaxy.”

His ship?

 _Horizon_ is _her_ ship, how _dare_ he -

She quickly clamps down on that thought before Baras can sense it. It gets buried in every layer of subservience that she can project. There’s still a chance that she can pacify him before he does something that she can’t salvage, like take his anger out on her crew, or repossess her ship. “I would never betray you, master,” she swears.

He paces in front of her, hands clasped behind his back like he’s restraining himself from lashing out and striking her. “And yet you abandoned your assignment.”

“Please forgive me.” She bows her head and tries not to let any emotions show.

“No,” he says coldly, “I do not think I shall. Why did you disobey my express commands? I sent you to Sobrik for a reason. You decided to leave the last Imperial outpost on Balmorra against my orders.”

She won’t tell him the truth. He would blame Quinn and she will never let that happen. If she can put herself between harm and her crew, then she’ll do without hesitation. “I have no excuse for my actions. What I did is my fault and mine alone, and I take full responsibility. I will accept any punishment that you-”

Baras throws his hand out and bright lightning hits her.

She screams.

The pain burns through her body, searing every inch of her, a deep and unavoidable agony. She thought she knew the pain of lightning, though she could handle it. The overseers of Korriban have _nothing_ on the kinds of tortures Baras has mastered. It rips her to shreds, bringing her to the edge of passing out before he finally lets her go.

Her entire body sags once the lightning leaves her. Tiny electric aftershocks make her shake and twitch as she collapses onto all fours. It’s all she can do to not pass out, to not completely drop to the ground, to at least keep her head off the floor. Her vision blurs. She can’t faint, she can’t, she can’t show anymore weakness.

“You should be grateful that you’re not pinned to a slab of metal right now,” Baras tells her, reveling in what he’s done.

It feels like fire has stripped her throat raw, “Thank you, master.”

He’s probably smirking behind his mask, the bastard. She despises him and she can never touch him. “Now we can move on to more important matters, my errant apprentice. The next step of my grand plan is approaching, although the time isn’t yet right to strike. One more piece must fall into place. Until I have need of you, remain on Dromund Kaas. I will summon you when I am ready to make my move.”

“Yes, master,” she coughs out.

He dismisses her with a wave of his hand, “Get out of my sight.”

On unsteady hands and feet, she pushes herself up and staggers from his chambers.

Every Sith avoids her as she limps through the Sanctum. They don’t want to be associated with failure. It’s hard to breathe and she thinks that her hearts aren’t normally beating this fast. She tries to keep her back straight, head up, hands at her sides. Baras can torture her all he likes, but she can still attempt to keep some semblance of dignity. She won’t show weakness.

By the time she steps out into the open air and the thin drizzle of rain, she’s resorted to leaning on the walls. She’s slumped over, thinking that maybe if she doesn’t move her torso too much, it won’t hurt as badly.

“My lord!” There’s a look of horror on Quinn’s face as he rushes to her side. He slides an arm around her so that she can lean against him. “What…?” He looks her over, frowning when she finds that she can’t quite focus her vision, “Electrical burns?”

Her voice is raspier than a desert, “Baras was displeased.”

Quinn calls a taxi and helps her walk towards the speeder pad. Once they’re in the covered taxi, out of the rain, he checks her pulse, “Your heart rate is up. Are you cold?”

“No.” She tugs her cloak closer to make sure. It’s not as bad in a speeder, there’s no wind or rain. “I - there’s something wrong with my sight.”

He carefully tilts her head up and checks her eyes, “Look at me, please. Can you focus? Would you describe your vision as blurring, or going dark?”

It’s hard to tell, “I don’t know. I think I’m going to pass out.”

“Don’t lose consciousness,” he tells her firmly, his voice wavering with worry, “If you feel tired or sleepy, you must fight it. Passing out has the possibility of resulting in serious injury to your brain, and that’s something I can’t fix. I need to take you to a medical center, I’m not qualified to treat these kinds of burns.”

“No! I can’t - Baras wouldn’t -” she grabs his hand and tries to impress upon him the seriousness of this, “I’ve been electrocuted before, I can handle this. I can recover just fine, I swear. Just - kolto, I need kolto and I’ll be fine.”

There’s no way he’s going to accept that, she can tell, “Kolto can’t do everything. I still recommend taking you to a specialist.”

She shakes her head. It’s a terrible idea, everything blacks out for a moment and she thinks her hearts stop working for a beat or two. “No specialists, nothing that Baras can track. Can’t let him see that he’s got to me. Can’t show weakness. Just kolto - I trust your skills. Do I have to order you?”

“Very well,” he reluctantly agrees, “No medcenter. Please, my lord, stay with me.”

“I’m not going to sleep,” she confirms, keeping her head steady. Things go dark for a second again. “I’m sorry. I have great respect for your skills as a medic, but I admit, I didn’t think I’d be on the receiving end of them so very often.”

“Although it would save me a few gray hairs, I think frequent injuries are a standard job hazard for Sith,” he admits, a tiny smile on his lips as he looks at her.

The taxi comes to a halt in front of the spaceport. Quinn takes her hands and helps her step from the speeder onto the platform, her legs still a bit too shaky to walk on her own without falling. Her head is a bit clearer now that she’s farther away from Baras. Although she has to admit, the sight of _Horizon_ sitting in front of her, moored to the ground and sparkling as if new, helps a good deal more than she'd expected.

And Baras had thought that she would _steal_ this ship? Her master has never been more wrong. _Horizon_ can't be stolen, it belongs to her and her crew. It's theirs by every right, not Baras'.

"What?" she asks teasingly as he helps her into their ship, "Don't you have a medbay in your apartment?"

He almost laughs at that, "A most regrettable oversight. My sincere apologies."

At his prodding, she takes a seat on the medical bed. It's embarrassing how much walking for just a few minutes exhausted her. It's been almost two years since she's had a taste of electrocution, and at the time she doesn't think Overseer Rihne had been trying particularly hard. Baras had been giving this little dose much for effort. He wanted this to hurt. Wanted her to _really_ remember the pain.

"A _terrible_ oversight," she laughs lightly, a much less painful endeavor now that her lungs aren’t burning as they used to. "I should file a complaint, captain.”

He gives her a kolto injection and checks her pulse again to make sure it’s dropped. Her stomach flip flops as he presses a kiss to her knuckles. With a smirk, he asks, “Is there something I can do to make up for such a heinous mistake, my lord?”

Stars, she’s a _disaster_. One line from him and she can’t remember whatever clever reply she’d planned out. Although to be fair, that might just be the effects of electrocution. Instead, she blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, her cheeks redder than Tatooine's suns, “You could always buy me dinner?” Quinn pauses for a second and she immediately tries to walk it back, “That is, if you want to. It’s not an order.”

“It’d be my pleasure,” he says, to her surprise, “Is there anywhere in particular you’d be interested in?”

To be honest, she wasn’t expecting that to work and now she doesn’t know what to say. “I don’t really know where the best restaurants in Kaas City are. Pick some place delicious.”

“Of course.” He gives her a small smile and picks up a scanner, “Your pulse is down to a much better rate, my lord, and I don’t think there will be any permanent or long lasting injury. There’s no apparent nerve damage either. If you stay on a kolto drip for an hour or so, you should be fine. How do you feel?”

She still feels a second away from passing out, “Tired. Could I sleep now?”

“Just one more moment.” The scanner beeps out results as he slides open the holo field, looking at her brain through the imager, checking for any damage. It gives a prognosis and Quinn sighs with relief, “You’ll be fine. Now that I’m confident you’ll wake up, feel free to get as much sleep as you need, my lord.”

Sleep sounds wonderful. She’s forcing herself to stay awake, her limbs heavy and tired. “Of course I’ll wake up,” she mumbles, lying down on the medical bed, “We’ve got a dinner date, right?”

He laughs. It’s startled, something that he hadn’t been expecting her to tease out of him. “I’ll make sure to pick out somewhere spectacular.”

~*~

“Yeah this is a waste of time,” Vette throws the shitty blaster part over her shoulder. It bounces against the transport ship’s wall before Jaesa catches it with the force and kindly returns it to the trash bag it came from. “It’s fifty-fifty, half of what I get from Nar Shaddaa is the worst junk _ever_ and the other half is worth its weight in spice. No consistency at all.”

The three of them are back on a ship, a welcome change from a week on Nar Shaddaa, even though Vette still loves that krething awful moon. It’s just a standard Imperial transport ship, nothing for her to write home about. She misses her and Jaesa’s room back on _Horizon_ , and it’ll be nice to get back to their actual ship instead of this poor stand-in. Not that she _likes_ Dromund Kaas, but home sweet home and all that.

Pierce shrugs, rifling through the blaster parts she’s picked up, “Some of this ain’t bad.”

“If you wanna keep it, you gotta pay me for it,” she reminds him.

“Oh, Vette,” Jaesa calls out. She elegantly stands from her meditative position and walks over to where the two of them are sitting around a table. She digs around in the pocket of her coat, pulling out Vette’s personal holo, “You left your holo in your coat, and it’s ringing.”

Vette snags the holo and Pierce just raises an eyebrow at them, “Should I ask why you’re wearing Vette’s coat, or do I not want to know?”

His question goes unanswered as Vette picks up the call.

Gimrizh appears in the field, looking very much like she’s two seconds away from all out panic, “Vette! I need your help.”

Someone needs to tell her where the fire is, yikes. “Okay, what’d you need, boss?”

“I - uh,” Gimrizh wrings her hands. Guess it’s not so much panic as nervousness. She takes a deep breath and works up the courage to ask, “I don’t know what to wear.”

Vette laughs - she can’t help it, it’s just so silly, “Wow. What an emergency. Why do you need help with what to wear? I mean, you have two modes, either you walk around in sweats and no shirt, or you go full scary synthleather Sith. What, do you have to go to another Alderaan party thing again?”

The nervousness gets turned up a notch, “No, no - I, um -” If holos had color Vette’s sure Gimrizh would be blushing red right now, “It’s a dinner. At an expensive restaurant. I don’t have anything appropriate.”

Why would Gimrizh be going to a fancy restaurant? A fabulous, wonderful, absolutely fucking _hilarious_ idea occurs to Vette. She grins wickedly at her friend, “Oh? Dinner, huh? With _whom_ , pray tell?”

Yup, she’s definitely blushing, “Vette, _please_.”

“Hah! I was _right_!” Vette slams her hands down on the table and then points at Pierce, “Two hundred credits, you bastard! Pay up!”

Pierce groans, but fishes around in his pockets for the money, “Really, boss?” he asks, exasperated, “If you’d waited another month before fessing up, I would have made three hundred.”

Gimrizh’s jaw falls open, “You all _placed bets_?”

“I didn’t, master!” Jaesa chimes in, leaning into the holo field, “I would never have placed bets on your love life, but may I offer my congratulations nevertheless?”

Only because Vette and Pierce didn’t let her wager money on account of Jaesa’s abilities giving her an unfair advantage. Not cause Jaesa is morally above the quality entertainment of watching the utter idiocy that is Gimrizh and Quinn try to figure out the obvious. Vette doesn’t tell Gimrizh that though. “Thanks Gim!” Vette flips the credit chips between her fingers, “Glad I could profit off you!”

“This is it,” Gimrizh says flatly, “This is how I die. _Betrayed_.”

Vette rolls her eyes, “Oh stop being dramatic. Now let’s talk clothing options. What do you have so far?”

“Nothing? I have standard Sith robes and armour, stuff I fight in - hells, half of my wardrobe is partially bloodstained,” she gestures to the dirty pants and chest bindings she has on, “Look at me - I don’t own nice things, Vette.”

“Okay,” Vette does a mental checklist of all the things that Taunt used to do before going on a date, “I can help. See, while I was running around the galaxy doing crime, I also got a first class education in _life._ Step one. Make sure your bra and underwear match, trust me, that’s just the most important thing.”

This does not seem to help, “I don’t own a bra!”

Vette almost bangs her head against the table. _Of course_ her idiot boss doesn’t own a bra. “Alright, step two then. Are you on _Horizon_?”

“Yes, but I don’t see how my location is going to help.”

“Go to my and Jaesa’s room. I’ll let you raid our closet just this once because it’s for a good cause.”

Pierce, out of what Vette is choosing to interpret as respect for the time honored traditions of sisterhood, is trying his hardest not to burst out laughing. The holo goes glitchy for a moment and then Gimrizh reappears, “Alright, I’m in your room.” she grimaces, “Vette, there’s a carpet of trash in here. It wouldn’t kill you to pick up your garbage once in awhile.”

“Says the woman who avoids doing laundry like the plague,” Vette shoos her towards the closet, letting her rifle through the mess of clothes in there, “Towards the back - bit to your right - there should be a purple dress, kinda slinky, kinda silky.”

Gimrizh tugs the dress out and holds it up to her body to check for size, “I am _not_ wearing this!”

“Oh come on,” Vette complains. She looks Gimrizh up and down. There’s nothing wrong with the dress, it looks like it’d fit well and of course Vette’s taste is impeccable as always, “You’ll look great in it!”

“It’s too short!” she hisses, apparently scandalized by the hem length.

Please, it’s barely an inch above the knee. Not exactly an inappropriate length, “I’ve seen you wandering around the ship in pants that you’ve cut off well above mid-thigh. _This_ is too short for you?”

“That’s quite different,” Gimrizh insists, “Training clothes aren’t the same. This is a date, there are _implications_.”

Pierce starts laughing and Jaesa has to put her hand over his mouth. “Gimrizh Korribanil!” Vette orders, crossing her arms, “You will wear that dress and you will look smexy, understood!” She doesn’t bother to wait for an answer, “Good! Now turn the holo away for a minute and get changed.”

With a overdramatic sigh, Gimrizh turns the holo to the side and it goes static without a person standing in the field.

“This is krething hilarious,” Pierce says under his breath, grinning like he’s watching the galaxy’s greatest holo show. “I don’t know if Quinn’s good for her, but if this is the result? I’ll take it.”

The holo turns back on. Gimrizh looks great in the dress, although she could do without the grumpy expression on her face. “Happy now?”

Vette practically squeals, “You look _amazing_! Nine out of ten, taking off one point cause you’re not Jaesa and therefore not perfect -” Gimrizh pretends to gag, “ - but still a solid score on the hotness meter. Okay, let’s talk shoes. You can’t wear those boots with that dress, you need some heels. As tall as you like, you’re shorter than _me_ and Quinn’s what, eight inches taller than you? You could stand to gain a few inches.”

“Fine,” Gimrizh grumbles. She rifles through Vette’s shoe boxes, “Any more demands?”

She thinks on it, “I think I’ve got a pair of silver wedges somewhere, those’ll do. Yeah, yeah, they work. Okay, let’s talk jewelry.”

Gimrizh almost drops the wedges, “Absolutely not.”

Stars, trying to get her boss to look good is harder than flying a ship away from a black hole. “I can’t believe you’re being this fussy about things. Fine, fine, no pretty necklaces. I’m confident you’ll admit I’m right eventually, so I’ll let it go for now. Let’s see…” she goes through her mental checklist, “Shoes, dress, you can’t really wear makeup with all those tattoos… You don’t really have long enough hair to do anything with it… Do you smell nice?”

“Do I smell nice?” Gimrizh repeats, blinking in confusion, “I - maybe? I don’t know?”

Vette taps her chin thoughtfully. Twi’lek perfume is totally different from anything that Zabraks would wear, but maybe humans would be close enough, “Jaesa’s side of the room, small red bottle. Put a little on the insides of your wrists and then some behind your ears.” She grins wickedly, “Also, put a little on your inner thighs.”

Gimrizh tries to glower, but she’s too embarrassed to do it properly, “I will smash this bottle of perfume over your head if you don’t stop insinuating things.”

“Admit it,” Vette teases, “you know you love me. Now are there any other crises that need my expertise?”

“You have fulfilled your duty as friend.” Gimrizh waves dismissively.

“Good luck!” she manages to yell before the call closes out.

Pierce groans like the sore loser he is, “I can’t believe I lost two hundred credits. You didn’t have any insider information on that bet, did you?”

She just winks.

~*~

Malavai waits nervously on his apartment building’s speeder pad, standing just out of the rain. It’s been a long time since he’s actually been romantically involved with anyone, let alone someone like Gimrizh. There’s a level of complexity to their situation, difficulties because of her rank and their odd place in the hierarchy that dominates Sith politics. And there’s the fact that while he doesn’t think he’s ever been in love before, he’s certain that he _does_ love _her_. Which makes things complicated, to say the least.

Right on time, a speeder pulls up to the curb and Gimrizh steps out. There’s a worried look on her face, she’s second guessing herself again. She tugs her coat over her head to keep the rain off as she hurries under the awning.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” she apologizes, shaking the water off her coat.

He shows her his chrono, “You’re two minutes ahead of schedule, my lord, there’s no need for apology.”

“Oh,” she pauses, “I suppose I was more worried than I had to be. So, where are we going?”

“One of the top seafood restaurants in Kaas City,” he says. He spent a number of hours reading holonet reviews and trying to figure out what she would like the best before eventually settling on seafood. It’s difficult to acquire fresh fish from spacebound supply ports, and Dromund Kaas has a number of heavily farmed sections of ocean. He’s put his best efforts towards making sure that she has a perfect evening. “It’s close by, in one of the covered plazas a few blocks from here. I thought we could walk?”

She smiles and slides her hand into the crook of his arm when he offers, “You know, I’ve never eaten fish before.”

“Korriban isn’t really known for its bodies of water. And may I say,” he adds as they step out of the lift onto the ground floor, “you look stunning, my lord.”

It’s true, she’s always beautiful, but tonight she’s wearing a purple dress and there’s something different about the way she holds herself. The effect takes his breath away. “Thank you,” she replies, abashed, “You as well, it’s always nice to see you out of uniform. I should warn you though, the dress is Vette’s. I don’t actually own anything this nice.”

That does make a good deal of sense. He’d been wondering why Gimrizh would own something like that. “I’ll have to be polite to Vette the next time I see her then.”

“Oh _no_ ,” she replies, “Feel free to be as horrible as you want. When I called her I found out that she and Pierce had placed bets.”

He’s taken aback for a moment, “What?”

“Vette won two hundred credits off him,” she grumbles, “They weren’t even betting on _if_ we’d get together, they were betting on _when_ , those bastards.”

Gambling isn’t allowed on Imperial vessels, and Pierce knows that full well even if Vette treats rules as vague guidelines, “If you like, you’d be well within your rights to have the lieutenant demoted,” he suggests.

It looks like she seriously thinks it over for a minute, “No,” she eventually decides, “I can’t demote Vette and their punishment has to be equal. Unfortunately.”

“Did Jaesa place a wager?” he asks, out of morbid curiosity more than anything else. The thought does occur to him that they could dock Vette and Pierce’s pay, but he has a feeling that it wouldn’t be the sort of revenge Gimrizh has in mind. Their retaliatory move will probably be quite petty.

She shakes her head, “Not a single credit. I’m so proud.”

Jaesa always did have more sense than the other two, certainly a good deal more than Vette, “It is understandable - you must be an excellent teacher.”

It’s part flirting, part praise, and she laughs at the latter half, “Flattery _will_ get you everywhere with me.”

“I assure you, my lord,” he says sincerely, “it wasn’t false praise.”

Behind the black of tattoos, her cheeks flush red, “You know, you don’t have to call me that. After all -” she clears her throat and falters for a minute before continuing, “This is a date, right? Titles aren’t exactly necessary anymore. That, and well, I would like it. If you called me by my name instead.”

They’d only spoken about this once before, he recalls. It had been just after he’d joined her crew and he’d been determined to keep up a professional barrier between them. Clearly, he’s failed utterly on that count. This is perhaps the only time he’s glad he’s failed. “We _are_ a good deal past the point where professionalism would matter.”

The concession is well worth it just for the way her eyes light up, “So? Gim - rizh, two syllables. I promise it’s not much of a challenge.”

“On one condition.” He holds up a finger, “Mal - a - vai, three syllables. Not too much more difficult.”

She’s trying very hard not to smile, “You drive a hard bargain, but I accept. _Malavai_.”

It occurs to him that he’s made a terrible mistake, because now he has to watch the way her lips almost smile as she says his name, how his name almost slides off her tongue, it’s practically criminal. “Then we have a deal, my lo - Gimrizh.”

“So close to slipping up there,” she teases, “I know it’s a bit of weird name.”

“I’d never do you the disservice of mangling the pronunciation, even if I don’t quite understand Zabrak names,” he tells her. At first, he has to admit that he thought the harsher, foreign sounds were unpleasant. Mostly, he thinks, it had been because he was unfamiliar with them, rather than any fault on the part of Zabrak naming conventions.

They enter one of the larger covered multiplexes that dominate the upper levels of Kaas City, an elegant complex of stores and eateries that cater to the richest of the rich. “Oh,” Gimrizh sighs, staring at the sweeping walkways dotted with lush plants, “This is lovely, truly lovely.”

“Have you never been here before?” he asks. There are maybe a dozen areas similar in this section of Kaas City alone.

She slowly shakes her head, “No, I’ve never had cause to. I’ll assume you have, though?”

“Yes.” He hesitates and then adds, “Not quite that often. A captain’s salary isn’t usually enough to afford anything here.”

From the look on her face, he’ll guess the thought hadn’t occurred to her. For all the hardships she’s faced due to her species and her past, she has been fortunate enough lately to never be pressed for credits. Sith Lords earn six figures, and she gets even more from the bonuses Lord Baras provides her with. He has a feeling she’s never really known what to do with money, never really needed or wanted for it.

She tugs awkwardly at the hem of her coat sleeves. “Ah. Well. Tonight none of that matters, does it? We’ll be going to the sort of fancy restaurant where they don’t even list the prices on the menu and not a single person there will think we don’t belong.”

That’s a strange way of describing the level of class, although an accurate one. He gestures at the door, “After you, Gimrizh.”

“So polite,” she grins and steps inside.

He had been specifically looking for the most upscale place and this restaurant certainly delivers. A crystal sculpture hovers in the middle of the dining room, sitting over a shallow pool swimming with brightly colored fish. Light music trickles in from somewhere. Gimrizh grins at him, almost nervous but entirely enthusiastic.

There’s a slim woman dressed entirely in black behind the podium, “Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”

“We do,” he says, “under the name ‘Quinn’.”

She looks through a data terminal and then glances back up at them. Her eyes land on Gimrizh and her smile glosses over, “I’m very sorry, sir, but we operate in full compliance with Imperial doctrine and it’s against our policy to host or serve sub-species. I’m afraid we can’t make an exception.”

“Excuse me?” He never considered the possibility that there would be places in Kaas City with that stance. It’s easy to learn to ignore the pervasive attitude towards alien races when he spends almost all his time on a ship with Gimrizh. “Do you know who she is?”

When he looks, Gimrizh’s face is frozen. “I see,” she says flatly, “So sorry to waste your time, then.”

Then she turns on her heels and strides out.

“You just insulted a Sith Lord, I hope you know,” Malavai tells the woman before hurrying after Gimrizh.

He finds her at the end of the block, sitting on a bench under a tree. Her hands are balled into tight fists, digging into her dress, her knuckles white against the dark fabric. There’s no tears, no anger, just frustration and disappointment.

“Sorry,” she whispers as he comes to stand by her side.

The notion her doing anything that necessitates an apology is ludicrous, “Whatever for? You did nothing wrong - this is entirely my fault. I should have inquired specifically about their policy towards Zabraks, I -” he sighs and adds quietly, “I merely wanted to pick somewhere that I thought you would enjoy. Forgive me.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” she says. She looks down at her hands and slowly releases her dress, “Why would you - I’m not human. Or pureblood, or even Chiss. I’m not - why would you care for me despite my species?”

Malavai’s never thought of that before. It had simply never been a factor. When he considered all the reasons that it would be completely stupid for him to fall in love with his commander, her species had never even been on the list. “I don’t love you _despite_ the fact that you’re a Zabrak, nor do I love you _because_ of it. It’s simple, you are a Zabrak and I love _you_. That your species seems to matter so much to people isn’t - well. Imperial doctrine is one thing, but the way people treat you is unacceptable.”

“Some days,” she admits, “I don’t know if they’re wrong or not.” She runs her hands through her hair, tugging at loose strands, “I just wanted to eat fancy fish.”

That is one thing Malavai can do. “I believe that goal can still be achieved, if you’re amenable to salvaging this evening?”

He holds out his hand and she takes it, letting him pull her to her feet. She dusts herself off and there’s a shadow of a smile on her lips as she asks, “A contingency plan?”

“Would you expect anything less from me?”

“An error on my part, then.” She goes up on her tiptoes and presses a soft kiss to his cheek, “Thank you - ah!”

She stumbles, loses her footing, and tumbles backwards. Malavai quickly reaches out and wraps his arms around her waist before she actually falls over. “Are you alright?”

Her face is bright red. “Fine.” She kneels down and rips her heels off, “These krething shoes - never let me wear five inch heels again.”

“Are you -” He pauses as she slings the shoes over her shoulder, “-barefoot?”

“I do believe I am. If it comes down to getting my feet wet or breaking an ankle, I think I could handle a bit of water.” She looks down at the ground, “It’s not too dirty. Besides, we Sith are rather tough, you know. Where are we going?”

“You shall see when we get there,” he tells her, “It’s a surprise.”

She pretends to pout before following him to their new destination, still carrying her shoes in her hand.

“The lower levels?” she asks when they step into a lift.

He can’t help but smile at her, “I said you’ll see when we get there. Have a little patience.”

The lower levels of Kaas City are far less affluent and also far more diverse. A group of Mandalorians gives them a weird look as they exit the lift. More aliens are wandering around the market than he remembers, although it has been years since he was down here. The last time had been five year ago, during a short period of leave from Balmorra.

“A market?” Gimrizh can’t seem to stop turning her head, trying to see everything at once, “Are we buying fancy fish instead?”

“We’re buying whatever you want,” he agrees.

They wander through the stalls, Gimrizh stopping every few seconds to examine produce or inquire as to what something is, or what it tastes like. He’s content to follow along and watch her as she apparently decides to throw out her earlier anger in favor of excited and cheerful discovery. At a stand selling Nabooian fruit, she spends a whole ten minutes examining everything before buying some bright yellow citrus that Malavai doesn’t know the name of. Her enthusiasm is infectious.

It’s a rare day when she lets down all her defences and Malavai wishes she could do it more often even though their lifestyle doesn't allow it. She’s always so hard and sharp, how much of it is a mask and how much is her? What would she be like, he wonders, if she wasn’t a Sith? “May I ask a personal question?”

“Of course,” she replies, “You can ask me anything.”

“What would you do if you weren’t a Sith?” As soon as he asks, her face goes ever so slightly colder and he regrets asking, “You don’t have to answer, I apologize if my question offends.”

She waves off his apology, “No, it’s just something I’ve never thought of before. I haven’t the faintest idea, actually. Being Sith is something so ingrained in who I am and who I have to - who I _want_ to be that not… I don’t know what I’d do. What would you do if you weren’t a captain? If you weren’t in the navy?”

“Military service is mandatory,” he says automatically. He’s never asked himself that either, “I haven’t the slightest idea. I think I’d still be serving the Empire, regardless. Would you?”

“I don’t know,” she thinks it over for a minute, “I honestly have no clue. I’ve never _not_ been Sith, or trying to become Sith. That’s pretty much my entire identity right there.”

He doesn’t think so. She’s more than just a title or an occupation. “It was merely an idle thought.”

“Yes, but now I’m _actually_ thinking it over,” she teases, “Maybe I’d become a pirate?”

Well now he _knows_ she isn’t taking this seriously. She’s far too practical to run off and thoughtlessly attack ships, that lifestyle is all danger and little reward. Particularly since she has little to no interest in money or profit. “Taking a page out of Vette’s book, then?”

She pretends to shudder, “On second thought…”

Her attention is drawn by a stall with numerous whole fish spread out on ice sheets, large animals with bright shimmering scales that dwell in the deep waters of Drumond Kaas’s many oceans. What catches his eye is a massive fish laying on a scale that has gathered a small crowd.

“- lift the entire fish and get a free cut!” the vendor is calling out.

Gimrizh grins and grabs his hand, tugging the both of them towards the stall, “I heard the word ‘free’. Let’s take a look.”

The goal, Malavai pieces together, is apparently to pick up the entire fish, which has been placed on a platform with a handle. As they watch, one man tries and fails while his friends cheer him on.

“Hey,” Gimrizh says, giving him a devious look.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“That probably weighs at least thirty pounds more than I do. I’m not going to make a fool of myself trying.”

“That’s fair.” She hands him her shoes, “Hold these for me?”

He takes them and she heads to the front of the crowd. The vendor grins at her approach, clearly thinking her an easy target. “Care to try your hand, little miss? If you can lift the fish a foot above the ground, you’ll win a free cut from the same type. Think you’re up to the challenge?”

“Oh gosh - I don’t know,” Gimrizh drawls, “It looks awfully heavy. I suppose I’ll give it a shot, if you think I won’t hurt myself.”

The vendor waves her forward, “Not at all, you’ll be perfectly fine. Why not try?”

“Thanks,” she says dryly.

She cracks her knuckles. This is going to be a treat to watch, both for the look on the vendor’s face and because Malavai has the sudden realization that she could probably dead lift _him_ if she wanted. Gimrizh leans down and grabs the handle. Without a single protest, she slowly and purposefully picks up the fish. The crowd cheers and gasps as she lifts it the aforementioned foot. They go utterly silent as she changes her grip on the scale and lifts the fish above her head.

With just as much control, she puts the fish back down and smiles pleasantly at the vendor, whose jaw is hanging open in shock, “Thank you for the free fish.”

Prize in hand, Gimrizh confidently strides back to Malavai, looking terribly pleased with herself. “Shall we depart before they figure out you’re Sith?” he asks under his breath.

“Ah yes,” she replies quietly, “I think that would be wise.”

They turn a corner as soon as they can, leaving the befuddled vendor behind. Once they’re out of sight, in a much quieter section at the edge of the market, Gimrizh starts laughing. She lets her shopping bags drop and bends over, clutching her stomach as she giggles. Malavai covers his mouth to stop himself from laughing, his shoulder shaking with silent laughter.

“I can’t believe -” he says once he can trust himself to speak, “you did that.”

She leans against the duracrete wall and tries not to giggle, “Did you see his _face_? Oh stars, _I_ can’t believe I did that.”

There’s such a glow radiating from her and Malavai wants to share in it, even for a moment. He brushes his finger against her lower lip, “May I?”

“You never have to ask,” she replies.

He leans down as she tilts her head up and kissing her feels like a sigh of relief. His hand cups her cheek and he can feel her racing pulse beneath his fingers. She digs her hands into his coat, pulling him closer, a slightly desperate noise falling from her lips and all he wants to do is draw that noise out of her again.

Throwing caution to the wind, he pushes her up against the wall, winding a hand through her hair and tugging, controlling their kiss. There's a second where he thinks that maybe he's overstepped his bounds and then she practically melts in his arms. The feel of her, her tongue sliding against his, her lip between his teeth, the heat of her body against his, it's intoxicating. Stars, she takes his breath away.

When they finally pull apart, it's with reluctance from both of them.

"Fuck," she mutters, panting slightly, "Malavai, I - I never thought kissing could be so _amazing_."

There's still only an inch of space between them, her words so much closer to the point where he can feel the vibrations as she talks beneath his hands. "Have you kissed anyone else before?"

She reaches up and wraps her hand around his, "Well yes, but never like _that_. Why haven't we been doing this for months now?"

"If you'd like to make up for lost time..." he suggests, tone a bit smart.

“ _Yes_ ,” she whispers.

“- Then I suggest we take our food and return to my flat?” Malavai finishes, picking up their fallen bags.

“I’d like to make it known for the record that I am only agreeing because I am hungry and because you are an absurdly good cook.”

~*~

“Inciting a full scale war was but one of my goals, apprentice,” Baras says, pacing in front of Gimrizh as she kneels before him, “The other was the inevitable downfall of Darth Vengean, so that I may take his seat on the Dark Council. The Council does not appreciate being undermined, and after his many failure, they are all but calling for Vengean’s head. A strike against him now, while against the letter of the law, would be met with universal support.”

Gimrzh says nothing, keeping silent even as she wishes she could scream at him. The phantom pain of his lightning twinges beneath her skin. It’s been healed for a week now and just being in his presence makes her terrified.

“How would you like to face off against one of the twelve most powerful Sith in the galaxy?” he asks and she can’t breathe.

No she can’t fight Vengean. Does Baras mean for her to die here? Has he decided her failure to obey demands and remain on Balmorra is irredeemable? “I shall do as you command, master,” she replies because she cannot stand the thought of dying here and if she speaks her mind Baras might very well kill her on the spot.

Baras barely seems to hear her answer, too wrapped up in his own scheme, “Good. There is one other complication. Darth Vengean’s apprentice, Lord Draahg, has been secretly working for me - which Vengean discovered before I could recall him. Vengean’s rage against me is growing. You must free Draahg and face Vengean together.”

“Draahg is a Lord?” she inquires before she can fully help it. It is a harmless enough question, spoken flatly, nothing that could condemn her.

He doesn’t seem to understand what she is asking, “He won’t get in your way, I assure you. And you need him. Draahg knows Vengean’s weaknesses and how to breach his inner sanctum.” He tosses a vial at her that she catches before it can shatter, “Administer this resuscitation drug to Draahg. It will restore his health. It will take _both_ of you to overcome Vengean. So free the apprentice and destroy the master.”

“It will be done,” she says.

With a brush of the force, he slides his office doors open, a clear dismissal if she ever saw one, “Then be off, my apprentice. After the deed is done, return to your ship and holo me. I will need you out of the Citadel while I deal with the Dark Council.”

Gimrizh retreats as fast as she can without running.

She can’t do this - she can’t kill a Darth. She’s not strong enough to defeat _Baras_ how can she kill his master? Perhaps she can throw Draahg at Vengean, drop to her knees, and beg the Councilor for mercy. Although if he’s anything like Baras, he won’t have any.

“It’s bad, worse than I thought,” she tells Quinn as soon as she steps out of Baras’ chambers, “I didn’t think he would - and he’s sending me to do his dirty work -”

Quinn glances around to make sure no one is looking and then takes her hand to stop her from ripping her hair out from fear. “My lord, what did Lord Baras tell you to do?”

She can’t have him by her side in this, it’d be too risky, she’d get him killed. She stands little to no chance against Vengean and she’s Sith. “Vengean. Don’t follow me, don’t try and stop me, just please, go back to _Horizon_ and meet up with the rest of the crew and I will try my very best to return to you.”

“You cannot expect me to stand silently by as you face off against a member of the _krething Dark Council_ ,” he protests.

She can see a thousand silent questions flash across his eyes as he tries to figure a way out of this ultimatum. She’ll need a medic - she can’t protect the both of them. He doesn’t need protection - if they fail she won’t lose him too. He could wait up here for her - if she fails she won’t let Vengean or Baras’ wrath fall on him. “Malavai _please_. Don’t make me risk you.”

For a moment she thinks that he’s going to stop her anyway and then his hand slowly lets go of her’s, “Of course, my lord. I apologize if I stepped out of place. But I beg of you, please do not die.”

“I’ll do my utmost,” she promises.

Her every step towards Vengean’s compound feels like walking through mud, her feet lagging and her hearts struggling. While she refuses to die here, her odds of survival also do not look good. She’s lost confidence in her skills.

When she gets on the lift that takes her all the way down, through the depths of the Citadel, it feels like being trapped. She keeps both her hands on her lightsaber hilts the whole time and tries to stop herself from hyperventilating. There’s a reason Baras is sending her and Draahg to do his dirty work - he’s not strong enough to defeat Vengean. She feels like she’s been maneuvered into a trap and she can’t see it closing.

Vengean’s compound is dimly lit and unmistakably grand. Two security droids are patrolling the corridor.

She reaches out with the force to crush one and then throws her lightsaber through the second, the red beam cutting it down before she pulls the hilt back to her hand.

The droids fall to the ground, too quiet to attract attention.

Gimrizh runs through the compound. There’s a guard at the corner, she springs off the wall, activates her lightsaber, and plunges it through the man’s head before he can say anything at all. Her blade burns a hole in the ground before she deactivates it.

With a push of force energy, she breaks the security lock on the door and slides it open, quickly closing it behind her again.

As Baras promised, there’s a man lying on a torture slab. He’s a good deal taller than her, with the red tattoos that some human families use to mark them as Sith descendants. Everything she always wanted to be and never could be. Draahg might be unconscious, but he’s got blood more respected than her’s and looks every inch the proper Sith Lord. She finds herself bitterly envious.

As she approaches, his eyes blearily crack open. He still can’t move, though.

“Lord Draahg,” she says quietly, “Lord Baras sent me. I’m administering a resuscitation stimulant.” She uncaps the syringe and pushes the needle into his upper arm. At least he’s unable to flinch - she’s no medic.

It only takes a minute before he can move again. He carefully sits up and rips off his restraints, “I - I’m grateful.” He swings his legs over the edge and stands up on slightly unsteady legs, “To you and Baras both. I look forward to serving him directly once Darth Vengean has been destroyed.”

She looks him over and thinks that maybe he’ll be strong enough to stand against Vengean, “We have been ordered to do just that.”

To his credit, he only pauses at that for a second before accepting the order, “Then we better begin. Vengean is in his inner sanctum, meditating. We’ll have to confront him there, but it won’t be easy to access. Three outer rings of this compound must be breached before we can reach the inner sanctum, then a key is needed to enter. It’s Darth Vengean’s personal key, but I made a copy and hid it. I’ll retrieve the key while you break through the outer levels of security.”

“Doable,” she replies.

“Darth Vengean oversees areas of the Imperial Military during times of war, he’s cherry picked the very best to guard him,” Draahg informs her.

Still not a problem. It’s Vengean she’s worried about, not some guards. “I’ll run the gauntlet, never fear.”

He smirks, “Then we’ll make a good team.”

She opens the door and the two of them split up, her going to the right, deeper into Vengean’s compound, and Draahg heading to the left, to his hiding place.

At least Vengean is apparently a fan of twisting corridors. It makes it easier for her to cut down anyone in her way if they cannot see her coming. She can sense the guards around the corner and take them by surprise, cutting them down before they even know she’s there. They’re just men with blasters, not exactly the best of the best.

Once she kills a guard, takes his security key and breaks through the first level, it gets a bit trickier.

Another force user approaches her.

A human, standard red lightsaber. She’s killed more powerful Jedi for star’s sake. It’s a boost to her ego when she takes the Sith down in two strikes yet she cannot grow complacent. Vengean will not die as easily as his canon fodder.

It’s a waste to kill potential allies even as she knows that leaving anyone alive isn’t allowed. Baras wouldn’t be so understanding.

The key through the second security ring is held by a force user. She breaks the door down and vaults over the table, both blades bursting to life. The man meets her with his red saber almost burning a line across her cheek. Almost.

She spins out of the way just in time, crouching low on the ground and swinging at his legs. There’s a flash of red and blue before he screams. She severed his hamstrings. The Sith drops. She leaps forward to cut him, one long gash through his stomach and then a second that slices through his spine.

The key is plucked from his corpse. She’s more than halfway there.

For three entire levels of security, Vengean didn’t really hire anyone of note. It might have stopped a lesser Sith or a hired gun. Certainly not a Sith Lord. Perhaps Vengean hasn’t been expecting Baras to make a move on his life. If so, that’s a fool’s mistake. Baras’ ambition is all-consuming.

She gets through the third level without much difficulty until she hits the key panel. It needs an eye scan, not a card.

“Damn,” she mutters to herself.

There’s a battle cry from behind her and then she has to flatten herself against the wall and block with both blades to stop the red lightsaber swinging at her.

She takes a look at the Sith attacking her, “You’ll do.”

A swift stroke decapitates her attacker. She levitates the head and presses it against the scanner. It accepts the eye and then she scampers through the door.

She finds herself in an antechamber, the final step before Vengean.

There’s a few moments of standing around and waiting. Then an air vent panel falls to the floor and Draahg drops down.

“I almost didn’t make it,” he explains, pulling a security key from his pocket and plugging it into the door console, “There were traps in the passages. I’ve nearly got this door open, but Darth Vengean probably knows we’re coming.”

“Then it’s too late to retreat, if that is some consolation,” she replies. It is to her. If there’s no way back then the only possible way is forwards. Not that she isn’t still terrified of course.

There’s a strange attitude about him as he stares at her. Almost like he’s trying to read her. “If I should fall, I’d like you to know that it was an honor to fight and die beside you. The woman who took down the War Trust and corrupted Nomen Karr would be no small companion to have in a final battle.”

How strange to think that there are people who see her as such. “The honor is mine.”

Draahg cracks the door open and they enter.

When she pegged Vengean as having grand tastes she’d apparently been quite correct. The inner sanctum is a lavish room, with a balcony and a raised platform in the center, draped in lush red carpet. And Vengean, her master’s master, is standing on the railing, smug as anything to see them approach. He leaps to the floor, landing in the middle of the platform, arms outstretched as if in welcome.

He’s older than she expected.

“Ah,” Vengean rumbles, his voice gravelly, “The apprentices of Darth Baras. Draahg, I will enjoy bleeding you anew. And you, Korribanil, before you arrived, Baras didn’t have the firepower to make such a bold maneuver.”

Why the postulating and grandstanding? “You have a flair for the over dramatic,” she says bitterly. “Trying to make a point?”

He doesn’t seem to be insulted, more the pity there. “It sickens me. Your master doesn’t deserve such a loyal dog. He’s a coward, always has been, pushing buttons from the darkness. You and I are people of action. Draahg might be a weak traitor, but you could be something if given the chance.”

Draahg doesn’t so much as frown at the rude comment, “You’ve been outplayed Vengean. Darth Baras has shown the galaxy that your wits are dull and your reach is short.”

“Enough!” Vengean finally shouts, “I will not be patronized by the likes of you. Beg me. Beg me for mercy and I will kill you quickly.”

Her lightsabers lie dead in her hands and she’s itching to ignite both blades, “Unfortunately, we cannot take you up on that offer.”

“Then die,” he says.

Vengean lights up the room with red and charges.

~*~

“Quinn you bastard!” Vette yells from outside the ship, “Get over here!”

Malavai drops his datapad and runs to _Horizon_ ’s gangplank, grabbing his medkit on the way because if Vette is screaming like that then someone is hurt. Someone, likely Gimrizh. Definitely Gimrizh.

When he arrives at _Horizon_ ’s door, he almost freezes. Gimrizh is standing at least, although part of it has to do with the arm Vette has around her. But there is blood streaked on her face and she’s clutching her stomach, red staining her shirt. At least she’s alive, he tells himself, it could have been so much worse yet she’s here and she’s alive.

“My lord,” Malavai lets her lean against him and immediately gives her a kolto injection. “How bad is the damage?”

She peels back her torn shirt to reveal a partially burned lightsaber wound that must have reopened, because the cauterized skin has ripped open and is bleeding steadily, “Vengean cut me and then I got thrown against a wall. There was this stupid krething vase - I shattered it and the transparisteel sliced me up.” She shows him a series of bloody nicks on her hands, “I need to clean my damn lightsabers.”

“That isn’t the more important issue right now,” Malavai reminds her. He needs to bind that wound or cauterize it again. There isn’t a dangerous amount of blood, but she’s always been resistant to a kolto tank and the sooner her injury closes the better.

“No, it isn’t,” she agrees, “I need to holo Baras.”

They’re in the main room right now and she tries to pull away and reach the holo.

“Hell no, boss,” Pierce tells her, standing between her and the terminal. Malavai might hate the man, but at least they are in agreement on this. “You don’t need to holo _anyone_ right now, okay?”

Gimrizh shakes her head, “No, listen to me, all of you. Vengean is dead. Baras ordered me to comm him as soon as I returned to _Horizon_.”

All five of them know that Baras’ orders can’t be ignored, Malavai especially. “Baras can wait one minute at least,” he says, surprising everyone, himself included.

“Fine,” she reluctantly decides, tugging her shirt up and letting him pack the wound with kolto and then seal it.

It won’t last long, and he would really prefer to at least bandage her hands before the cuts run risk of infection, although it is a start. He doesn’t think either her or Baras will allow much more delay. He shall have to settle for a half finished job now and the knowledge that he can properly fix her up later.

“Do not put stress on your injury,” he cautions, “it is nowhere near fully healed.”

“I know.” She staggers to the terminal and puts her weight on the metal. The holo connects and then Baras and an unfamiliar Sith are standing in the blue imaging field. “Master, Lord Draahg.”

They cannot see Baras’ face but there is no mistaking the smugness in his voice as he speaks, “Apprentice, you have never seen me so pleased. With our dismantling of Vengean complete, I assume his seat on the Dark Council. They might have protested my bold maneuver, but they could not deny that I am Vengean’s only choice for successor. By destroying my former master, you have done me a great service.”

Gimrizh bows her head, “Well earned, master.”

“And the third of our triumvirate is no less deserving,” Baras says, turning to the Sith that Malavai assumes can only be Draahg. “This could not have been achieved without you.”

“It’s been a long time, master,” Draahg replies, “I am ready to rejoin the front lines.”

Baras nods, “Then you shall. Now that I am on the Dark Council, I am perfectly positioned to bring the Republic to its knees, to shape the galaxy as I wish. Draahg, you and Gimrizh shall oversee the most crucial confrontations. Draahg, I shall shortly send you to do my will on the front, Gimrizh, I am deploying you to Quesh. I shall send the details of your assignments onwards when necessary.”

“I shall look forward to acting as your hand once again,” Draahg agrees.

Draahg’s figure vanishes from the holo. “I find myself nostalgic,” Baras admits, “Sending my apprentice off. This culminates everything we’ve done.”

Then Baras too disappears and Malavai tries to piece together what exactly went wrong in that conversation - because he’s certain that something did.

“Damn it!” Everything nearby rattles at Gimrizh’s outburst.

It’s Jaesa who asks the obvious, Malavai is too busy trying to see what his lord has already picked up on. “Master? I don’t understand?”

“I’ve failed,” Gimrizh says with such bitterness that it tugs at his heart, “I always knew that Baras had other apprentices, but I was - I was to be the one deployed for combat, a secure position, and now - I’ve been replaced. Draahg has replaced me. I might not have lost my title, but I have lost my position. I lost my security.”

No it’s not just that. It’s something far worse. Culmination, Baras had said. Gimrizh defeated Vengean, and yes there was another there, but what matters is Baras’ perception of the event, not the actual facts. Baras, who is paranoid enough and clever enough, what would Baras have thought of this?

“You killed Vengean, my lord,” Malavai quietly reminds her, not quite sure what he is implying.

She looks up and their eyes lock as they both come to the same conclusion.

She killed Vengean and before that she defeated Nomen Karr. Karr had, perhaps not defeated Baras, fought him to a stand-still certainly. Baras couldn’t make a move against Vengean and the reason wasn’t due to politics, it was because Baras was weaker than Vengean. Malavai’s always known that Baras’ true strength lies in subtlety and spies, always remaining one step ahead of his opponents. Gimrizh is a fighter and she is, without a shadow of doubt, stronger than Baras.

That makes her a threat.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's the end of the war arc! Ya'll can probably guess what's coming folks! Next chapter is probably going to be Pierce's interlude btw.  
> I'm on tumblr @semper-draca I am a smol I am not scary I promise  
> Please leave a comment, thoughts, feelings, questions...


	21. Interlude : Foris Pierce

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pierce's interlude chapter!  
> Shoutout to my fab beta FallenAscendant!

Foris Pierce sits up, his chest aching through the heavy stream of kolto and painkillers that’s dripping into his system. He spares a glare at the IV they’ve hooked him up to. What, they could spare all this shit to make sure he’s nice and comfy? It’s not needed and not wanted. He fucked up and he’d like to wallow in it for a while.

Not that it’s hard for him to remember.

One stupid second where he looked the other way and he pays for it with a force-damned explosion. Shit, he can’t even recall what happened after besides for a handful of disjointed images and blurry thoughts. Just realizing that he’d walked right into a mine. More pain than he’d ever wanted in one lifetime and so much ringing in his ears that he couldn’t hear for a week. Waking up in the med center with barely a clue as to how he got there.

He fucked up. Worse than all the bullshit he pulled as a kid on the streets of Ziost. Only this mistake is gonna be damn near impossible to forget.

The compact mirror in his hands isn’t lying to him. A huge burn scar marrs the right half of his face, goes down his neck. He tugs his shirt to the side to reveal what he already knows is there, the web of scar tissue covering his shoulder and the upper part of his arm. He’s not vain. Doesn’t give a damn about his appearance, really. In some ways, he’s even thankful for such a visible reminder. Sure as shit he’s not going to be that stupid again.

“Could be worse,” he says casually, tossing the mirror back at Arlos.

Tanido laughs with only a slight edge of uncomfortableness, “Sure could. Chicks dig scars, or dudes do, or, you know, whoever you’re into. My point is, scars are hot.”

“Scars are ugly as fuck and you all know it,” Lorant grumbles. She’s the only one here who isn’t pretending that things are fine. Foris always liked that about her. Galaxy could always do with a bit less bullshit.

“Piss off,” Foris replies, “I’m the best looking one out of the four of us.”

“And here I thought that maybe getting blown up would dampen your egotistic tendencies, boss,” Tanido rolls his eyes, “You got a scar, you ain’t ugly yet. Fucking _Grand Moff Kilran_ ’s got a scar all up over his face too. I could name a half dozen other people who lost more body parts than you ever have off the top of my head. I’m trying to be the supportive one. None of you guys were when I got that bit of shrapnel stuck in my-”

Arlos almost chokes on his own spit, “Uh- we remember. I was _there_ … unfortunately.”

“Respect your elders, young man!” Tanido demands without any real seriousness. “It hurt! I couldn’t sit down for a month!”

Maybe that’s why Foris got so sloppy on this last mission. He’s got almost two decades on every single one of these sad bastards. Don’t get him wrong, black ops is still the best of the best, but he ain’t getting any younger. He's in his thirties. Tanido and Lorant are only a few years out of boot camp and Arlos is only seventeen, no matter what his official papers have been changed to say. Young, spry fuckers.

He doesn’t really feel like moving, plus he’s got a couple dozen tubes sticking out of him right now, so he kicks Tanido with his foot. “Shut it. Business first.”

All three of them do shut up. Far more quickly than he was expecting, which means something is wrong.

“Now,” he stresses.

Arlos clears his throat, “Well the mission went off successfully after your um… well… We managed to secure the point before the rest of the pubs could scramble together a response team. Another victory in our favor, but it’s not going to hold. What with the Treaty… we weren’t supposed to be in there. Or, we weren’t supposed to be _caught,_  at any rate. Command is pissed at you for setting that detonator off.”

Fair, that. Black ops does the jobs other squads can’t because they’re supposed to be the quiet, efficient ones. Get in, get out, get the job done without getting spotted or traced. Back during the war, they managed to pin more crimes on the Hutts than he can count. Now it’s a little bit harder. They can’t use any moves in the Empire’s usual playbook, can’t use weapons that can be traced. They’ve been running low on tricks and they all know it.

“So we lay low for a month while they pull the bantha skin over the Republic’s eyes,” Foris finishes, “Plan for our next hit.”

“I don’t know,” Arlos shifts in his chair, running at a higher level of nervousness than his usual buzz, “This isn’t like Geonosis, this is serious. We… really messed up this time.”

Tanido quickly tries to make that sound less shitty than it actually is, “Not… because of you. I mean, you messed up, but it wasn’t you’re fault. We all screwed up. This ain’t on you. It’s on all of us. Don’t take it personal.”

For good measure, Foris gives him another kick, “I don’t take things personally.”

“...True,” Tanido agrees.

“So do we know when we’re supposed to be getting back in the action?” Foris continues. Normally they’d be more eager to get back out there than a rabid gundark.

They all exchange looks with each other. “Not for a while,” Tanido reluctantly informs him, “Not sure when. There’s been… talk. We’re uh… not the most public-friendly division. And the war’s over. I mean, it’s _not_ , but there’s the Treaty now. We’re sure as hell not high profile, but the targets we’ve got on our list are.”

“Just spit it out,” Foris demands. “We got orders?”

Arlos coughs before spitting it out, “They’re disbanding us. We were gonna, you know, wait for you to be better before telling you, but -”

“What.” He can’t believe this. Two fucking decades fighting the Republic, five years running the worst damn missions the war could throw his way. Five years doing the dirty work that most shiny squads of officers didn’t do. He hasn’t stopped fighting since he was a kid getting into fist fights in Ziost’s underworld. Has barely put down a blaster since he volunteered.

After all that, they’re going to disband black ops? High command must be stupid to pull this kind of a stunt.

“We’re not portraying the Empire as willing to cooperate,” Tanido explains, “Right now, the Empire can’t risk getting caught in too many skirmishes. Sure, the Treaty’s gonna blow up eventually, but for some reason we’re supposed to try and abide by it. Lost too much in the war I guess. Who knows what his Menacing Imperial Highness is thinking, doing this kind of stand off with the damn Republic.”

They’re trying to use this period to recover from the war, same as the Republic. Recover, and take back what they’ve lost through espionage and underhanded tactics. That’s what black ops is _for_. Only they got their supposedly covert mission blown up and all of a sudden they aren’t as off the books as they need to be. “They still need us.”

“Yeah,” Arlos says bitterly, every inch the kid who falsified his paperwork to join up way before his time, “They just don’t _want_ us anymore.”

No fucking way. “What about the Bastion? We’re all ready to -”

“They say it’s too high profile,” Tanido cuts him off, “Too hot a target. Something about other plans for Corellia, some kind of Imperial Intelligence bullshit or whatever.”

“That’s the most -” Foris tries to calm himself down. His team is on his side, yelling at them isn't going to help right now. “We have everything set up. Maps, plans, weapons, you name it, we have it ready to go and we have that target in the crate. The Bastion is _ours_.”

Tanido looks too tired to get properly angry, “You think we didn’t try and tell them that? General wouldn’t even fucking listen. Had to speak to the major instead. They ain’t got a choice. We’re out on the hyperlanes.”

“Fuck,” he swears, and then again for good measure, “ _Fuck_.”

“Yeah, boss,” Arlos agrees, “Us too.”

It’s Tanido who breaks the silence again, “We’re being split up, too. I’m supposed to be going to Tatooine, Arlos has a force-damn desk job now, Lorant got stuck as a personal assistant, and you’re off to Taris to work for some Moff there. They think we’re too much of a unsteady power coupling when together, apparently.”

Taris ain’t even the war. Taris is a reconstruction project, a publicity stunt for both sides. “I can’t believe this shit.”

Arlos tucks his shoulder down, making himself smaller and hell the kid is tiny to begin with, “We aren’t even being sent anywhere important. I’m gonna spend the next ten years of my life cracking insignificant nuggets of Republic code. We weren’t supposed to be _this_. I wanted…”

“I just wanted to fight,” Foris echoes, feeling like he got punched in the gut.

“For the Empire,” Lorant says.

He glares at her, “What?”

“You’re supposed to say,” she corrects, more bitter and sharp than usual, “‘I just wanted to fight _for the Empire_ ’.” She stands up and heads to the door, handing her visitor’s pass off to the droid on duty, “You aren’t blameless in this. Maybe it’s time you start thinking about why Command seems to think our team is a liability.”

And then she’s gone.

“She’s just mad,” Tanido quickly assures them. “She got the short end of the blaster.”

Nah. Lorant’s mad, sure. Doesn’t mean Foris can’t see the shard of truth in her words. He’s a faulty cannon and they all know it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we're gonna get back to The Plot  
> As always, please comment, let me know what you're thinking, what's working for you, what isn't, all that good jazz


	22. Wrath and Ruin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some housekeeping to do this chapter. The rating has been changed from M to E and a few tags have been added. I think I've mentioned this before, and it certainly was brought up in Pierce's interlude. I've changed a couple ages in this - Pierce is now 40 and Quinn is 30. Makes a lot more sense that way honestly.  
> Shoutout to my fab beta, FallenAscendant, and also guest beta RiaJade01  
> This chapter, aka: we enter the Revenge Zone *Twilight Zone music plays*, a lesbian cactus cameo, and a dash of light bondage

Foris slides the cooling module out of his blaster and wipes it down. It’s been overheating lately, bit of oil coating the grooves and mucking the thing up. He might not use his sidearm as often as he does his rifle, but it still needs to be battle ready. Or as battle ready as he’ll need on Quesh. It’s not exactly a crucial planet.

Toovee squeaks into the room, “Excuse me, Lieutenant Pierce,” his voice box chimes, “There is a message on the main holo terminal that has not been received for one hour, three minutes, and twenty six seconds. My protocols state that I should bring this to your attention.”

And there was no one else that the droid could bother? “Right. I’ll take a look. Go do… whatever you’re supposed to do.”

The droid clanks off and Foris reluctantly holsters his blaster. Guess he’s got work to do now.

Sure enough, there’s a data file waiting on the main holo terminal. It’s a text file, sent from Baras. Likely their instructions for the Quesh mission. He should probably hand this over to Gimrizh, whatever she’s up to.

There’s a light snore from the couch as Pierce walks past. Jaesa’s passed out on the sofa, a datapad falling out of her hand, and Vette’s slumped over on her lap, curled up into a ball. He’ll let them nap. No need to be loud.

He’s about to knock on the bridge door to see if Gimrizh is in there when he stops short. He can hear her and Quinn arguing inside and takes the opportunity to snoop. While he’d usually not give a damn what Gimrizh and Quinn talk about, and might actually feel bad spying on the boss, he does want to see if the captain reveals anything. Foris still can’t crack that Hutt-damned code.

“- your loyalty,” Quinn says.

Gimrizh laughs bitterly, “Loyalty doesn’t matter anymore - I failed Baras _three damn times_. Hoth, Balmorra… the force-damn Maelstrom - and _don’t_ tell me that wasn’t my failure, I know Baras holds it against me even if you don’t. I’ve fucked up too many times for him to hold my loyalty as more important than…”

“Than the potential threat you could pose.”

“Exactly.”

“Darth Baras would be foolish to throw you away just because you’ve become stronger in combat than he is. Strength can’t dismantle a spy network of the scale that Baras has - he still holds significant power that you don’t. If you can prove to him that you’d never become a threat to him, that you’re still loyal to him -”

“Am I?”

“... Of course. If you’re concerned about those pirates from Hoth, rest assured that Baras has no way of knowing you let them live. And it shouldn’t matter even if he did - nothing became of the incident.”

“Not Vette’s friends. They can cover their own tracks just fine. It’s Baras… If Baras went digging through my life - Hell, he might even know about Yaina, let alone -”

Foris _cannot_ be hearing this. Doesn’t want to hear this. He’s not going to listen in on her secrets when she doesn’t even know he’s here. He loudly knocks on the door, cutting off the conversation inside. “It’s me,” he says through the durasteel, clearing his throat, “Got a message for you, boss.”

The door slides open and he steps in. Quinn puts down his datapad specifically to glare at him as he enters. At least Gimrizh is amiable enough, even though now that Foris can see her he thinks she’s never looked like more of a live wire, all nerves and energy.

She’s sitting on a chair with her knees tucked up to her chest, “What is it?”

“Instructions from Baras,” Foris tosses the datapad at her, “Details about our assignment on Quesh.”

“Thank you.” She quickly scans the note - apparently it isn’t exactly detailed - and her fingers tighten around the edges till her knuckles turn white.

Quinn actually looks concerned, “My lord? Is there a problem with the assignment?”

“He’s not even telling us what the assignment is,” she says, coldly raging, “just telling us to speak to some Commander Ollien. Passing me down the food chain like - like I’m back to being an apprentice. Like I’ve done _nothing_ for him - As though he’s too busy and I am no longer worth his time. Of course, he’s on the Dark Council now, surely he can’t be bothered to tell me directly.”

“I thought you didn’t care about being a lord and all that?” Foris asks.

She glowers, “I _don’t_. Baras _does_.”

If it’s a snub or not, Foris can’t really tell. Part of that has to do with not being on her crew for a long time and part of it is that he doesn’t really care or know about Sith politics. “You _got_ Baras on the Council, right? Just remind him. Tell him to treat you better or get stuffed.”

“I’ll do that when I suffer enough brain damage to wish for death’s cruel embrace,” she replies sharply.

Foris tries not to laugh, “Or you could stop being dramatic.”

“I’m not being _dramatic_ ,” she hisses, “I just have no desire to get electrocuted again!”

He pauses, “Again?”

“Lord Gimrizh’s personal affairs are not your concern,” Quinn cuts in, and damn if that statement isn’t protective as hell. Pity that Foris is almost certain the captain’s hiding something, otherwise he might actually approve of Quinn getting with Gimrizh. “If you have nothing more of value to add, then you are dismissed, lieutenant.”

Foris _does_ , actually, “Boss, you should talk to Jaesa sometime. She’s hurting about something and fucked up a training drill yesterday.”

From the surprised look on her face, he’d guess she hasn’t noticed, “I - I see. Thank you for bringing that to my attention.”

“Sure.” And then, because he wants to prove a point about her shit observations and because he’s pissed at Quinn, he adds, “You’re too much of a wreck over Baras to see it yourself, anyway.”

It looks like Quinn is a second away from leaping out of his seat and decking Foris when Gimrizh gently puts her hand on his shoulder. “You’re right. I am… distracted,” she says quietly, “I’ll speak to her. Thank you again, Pierce.”

He lazily salutes and steps out, closing the door behind him.

~*~

“We’re getting out of here right now, I swear,” Thutrel promises, grabbing Kira’s hand as they run towards where his ship and friends are being held, “I am so _so_ sorry that it took me this long to break free and plan an escape, but I will get every single one of us out of here and to safety as soon as possible.”

Kira laughs, elated and scared at the same time. “At least you got that Sith off our case. He had no clue you were back to normal - by the way, it’s good to see you’re still you, Thutrel. I knew you weren’t gone.”

They turn a corner as fast as possible, the holding bay just a little bit further. He’ll be able to breathe safe on _Penumbra_ , once they’re in hyperspace and headed towards Coruscant or Tython, or anywhere in Republic space, really. He can still feel the heavy oppress of the Emperor here. It’s looming over him and he almost feels as though it’s watching him. “The Jedi Council needs to know what’s happened here.”

“One thing at a time, alright?” Kira comments.

Escape first, talk later.

He skids into the hangar bay with Kira hot on his trail, lightsaber in his hand as he sees who’s waiting for him. The Sith that fought him before, Scourge, the Emperor’s Wrath. A menacing figure, red lightsaber gleaming as he stands over the corpse of a security guard.

Wait.

Thutrel’s friends are freed and why is Scourge attacking the Empire?

Slowly, hopefully, he lowers his green saber, “Are you here to stop us from leaving, or do you have other motives?”

“If I wished to fight, I would not have freed your crew or killed these guards,” Scourge points out, he too deactivating his blade. They both face each other, unarmed and apparently unwilling to continue their previous animosity. Thutrel isn’t going to attack first, but he will defend if Scourge does. But it doesn’t look like there’s a need for any violence.

Tee-seven beeps cheerfully at him, defending Scourge’s actions.

Scourge glances down at the droid before calmly informing them, “More guards will come. Shall we go before they arrive?”

“Forgive my rudeness,” Thutrel begins, “but why are you aiding us? I am not enthusiastic about letting someone onto my ship only to have to fight them off later. I want to trust you, I do. Please give me reason to.”

“I could have killed you on Quesh, had I wanted,” the Sith reminds him, “Did you never wonder why I hesitated? I have waited over three hundred years to see the face that came to me in a vision all those years ago. _Your_ face. Only a few beings have ever broken the Emperor’s domination. You and that girl are special.”

A vision? It seems strange that it took so long to come to pass, three hundred years is painfully long to wait. Celebris always told him that the force granted visions when they needed to be seen. How did the vision help Scourge, three hundred years in the past? “You believe that we have the power to subdue the Emperor? I don’t know if that’s true, both of us might be decent Jedi, but it will take power that we don’t have to face him again. We lost so quickly before.”

“You’ll need my help,” Scourge says, his voice a calm, smooth timber, unchanging. “Though the Emperor seeks to conceal his true plans, I have seen them. That vision has driven me to this.” To Thutrel’s shock, the Sith gets down on one knee, “I pledge my loyalty to you. Take me to your Jedi Council on Tython, and I’ll reveal why.”

For a moment, Thutrel feels tongue tied. He really wants to trust this Sith, he does. Scourge _helped_ him, freed his friends, turned on the Emperor, and apparently it was all for him.

“We’re not actually considering this?” Doc asks, incredulous, “I mean he’s obviously full of… awful.”

Kira sighs, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m with Doc on this one. It just looks like a trap. An obvious trap, but still a trap.”

“I seek to save this galaxy from annihilation,” Scourge says ominously, “Without my help, your ship will never escape - that’s not a threat. I can guide you to freedom. I can navigate your ship through the defense grid.”

The words of his old master come to mind and Thutrel decides to trust Scourge. “An old and dear friend told me that I’d find help from a dark ally. I think he meant you. You’re welcome on my ship and I shall put faith in you. You might always be Sith, but that does not mean we can’t work together in harmony.”

Doc and Kira exchange glances and it means a good deal to him when they don’t protest his decision.

“Well,” Rusk remarks, “I suppose if you keep trying to work with every enemy you meet, you’re bound to find one that’ll actually go along with it.”

“Thank you, all of you,” Thutrel says gratefully, “I know this is asking a lot of you.”

Scourge ignores this and strides towards _Penumbra_ ’s gangplank, “Time is a luxury we no longer possess.”

Of course. The six of them hurry into his ship without further delay. Stars, Thutrel has missed his ship, his home. It makes his heart ache to simply run his hand over the stair railing as he boards, a familiar setting that he sorely longed for during his days under the Emperor’s command. It worries him for a moment, he knows the Jedi’s stance on attachment. In truth, he finds compassion and this sort of comfort almost needed for the Jedi life. How can he act as a peacekeeper if he cares not for what he’s trying to protect?

Doc and Rusk power up _Penumbra_ ’s engines and within a minute they’re streaking out of the space station, into blackness and stars.

“To the right,” Scourge instructs, “There should be a patrol group coming from the left. It would be wise to make the jump to hyperspace as soon as possible.”

Thutrel starts plugging in coordinates to Tython, “Of course. Thank you again, Scourge. Your aid means a lot to me.”

The Sith calmly nods, as though helping them is a necessity and not a choice. Perhaps, if he runs into Gimrizh again, he can ask Scourge for help convincing her to step into the light. He doesn’t know where she is, or what she’s doing, but he’s worried about her. The last time he’d seen her had been Coruscant and she’d been wrapped up in such despair then.

All he really knows is that she’s still alive and that isn’t much to go on. Tharan Cedrax was right though, Thutrel can’t keep splitting his energy between different outlets. He can’t go running after Celebris or Gimrizh right now. The war, and the Emperor, must be dealt with first. Yet it seems like such a given to him that he will encounter Gimrizh again. Perhaps, if the force wills it, the next time he sees her, she shall have Yaina with her. Perhaps he can save them both. He _knows_ he can help Gimrizh, can see how she’s suffering just like he was after his family died, can see that she’s struggling her way towards the light even as she tries to pull herself back into the dark.

Thutrel looks back at Scourge and tells himself to take comfort. Anyone can change. If a three hundred year old Sith can work with the Republic, then he can help Gimrizh as well.

 _Interesting_.

Like a punch to the gut, Thutrel feels the Emperor’s presence turn away.

He gasps and doubles over, the pain from it quickly fading and instead leaving behind the strangest feeling, as though he’s had the air torn from his lungs. And he’s not the only one, Kira’s leaning over the terminal and panting. Maybe the hardness of it is worse for her, or better, from having experienced it before. Scourge closes his eyes briefly as the sensation rips through the three of them.

“Was that-?” Thutrel’s not sure what it was. They haven’t yet hit hyperspace, aren’t quite away from the Emperor.

Scourge nods, “It seems as though Vitiate has found something else to turn his eye towards.”

“Thank the stars.” The nav computer finishes its calculations and Rusk pulls them into hyperspace, the stars blurring past them, “We’re safe. He’s gone. We’re _safe_.”

~*~

 _Interesting_.

Gimrizh jolts awake, reaching out with the force and calling Quorian’s lightsaber to her hand before she can even think about it.

For a moment, it felt like someone was looking at her through the force. Like a weight that had suddenly fallen on her chest, a gaze burning through her. Reminiscent of when Baras tries to shuffle through her mind only a thousand times beyond that.

“Yikes,” Vette remarks, holding up her hands, “Bad dreams?”

Damn, it looks like she fell asleep on the couch again. The datapad that she’d been trying to read earlier has fallen to the floor and the screen is broken - it’s not a loss she’ll lament, it had been a boring, albeit important, summary of the current military operations on Quesh. “My apologies. I didn’t mean…” She looks down at Quorian’s lightsaber, thankful she didn’t activate the blade. Why she instinctively reached for her Jedi weapon as opposed to the one she got from Korriban is a thought that she doesn’t want to touch with a ten foot pole. “And yes, it was just a bad dream. Is there a reason you’re waking me up?”

Vette pauses for a second, giving her a look that clearly says she’s not buying it. “Just wanted to let you know we’ve landed. Your bf said something about ‘blah blah, should get to work, here for a mission, blah blah’. I tuned most of it out.”

“...Right,” Gimrizh puts her lightsaber back on the floor. At some point she’d taken off her lightsaber belt because it’d been digging into her hips and she’d wanted to be comfortable. Not because she’d been sleepy, just looking for comfort. That hadn’t worked out. Hell, she’s not even well rested to deal with Quesh after that strange dream.

“Oh, and here,” Vette holds out a shirt, “You’ll need to be presentable and all that, so I figured I’d help you out.”

That’s actually very thoughtful. She sits up and rolls her shoulders out, “Thank you, that’s very -”

Vette starts laughing.

“Great,” she glares, “What is it?”

There’s a merciless grin on Vette’s face as she replies, “Guess you don’t need this shirt after all. You’re such a sap. All your ‘oh I’m a scary evil Sithcake’ is _fake_ , you _complete sap_.”

Gimrizh looks down at her lap and remembers that she’s been using Malavai’s jacket as a blanket. It’s been a few weeks since she borrowed it from him and she’d _meant_ to give it back only it didn’t quite work out that way. She grabs both his jacket and her lightsabers, reaching over to rip the shirt out of Vette’s hands, “Go fuck yourself,” she grumbles.

“Nah,” Vette finger guns, “I’ve got Jaesa for that.”

Gimrizh throws the datapad at her head.

It goes sailing over Vette’s head. She sticks her tongue out, “Your aim sucks!”

“Shut up.” She tugs the shirt over her head and clips on her lightsaber belts, and then, mostly to spite Vette, she pulls on Malavai’s jacket as well. It’s too large for her and she has to roll up the sleeves. “There,” she flattens her hair down and glares at Vette, “I’m awake, I’m presentable. Do I meet your requirements?”

“You’re adorable!” Vette tries to pinch her cheeks and she slaps the hand away.

She tries for a menacing glare, which fails, “I despise you.”

Vette just grins, “You _love_ me!”

Gimrizh does, but she sure as hell isn’t about to admit it. She shoves her hands into her pockets and stalks off _Horizon_ into the halls of the Quesh orbital station, Vette at her heels, snickering loudly.

They get stopped at the main level where the rest of her crew is waiting. A member of the port authority comes over, “Inoculations are this way, please.”

There’s a temporary medial setup where some medic stabs a needle into Gimrizh’s arm. It stings for a second and then she heartlessly abandons Vette to get her own jab.

The shuttle bays are across the plaza, one scheduled to depart in twenty minutes that she assumes they’re going to be on. It was stupid of her to fall asleep when she knew that they’d be docking in a few hours. At least she didn’t cause them to miss their connection. Jaesa and Pierce are still getting their own innoculations so she moves to stand at Malavai’s side.

“Sorry I dozed off,” she says, “In my defense, reading up on Quesh’s recent adrenal exports is dull enough to put anyone to sleep. Boring planet though it may be, I wouldn’t have wanted us to miss the shuttle to the surface.”

“We’d hardly have left without you, my lord.” He’s stunned when he turns to look at her, slowly noticing that she’s wearing his jacket. He clears his throat, “I did want to thank you again,” he continues, all professionalism once more, “for the opportunity to kill Broysc. Major Ovech just sent me a message - he has been keeping me informed since Broysc’s death and it seems as though many who served under him or worked with him are relieved. He was choking the Empire, and it’s better off without him.”

That’s a relief for her as well, “I’m glad of that. The man was a malicious idiot and I - I hated what he did to you. You didn’t deserve what happened, but he _did_.”

“A blaster bolt to the head is the only thing he’s _ever_ deserved,” he agrees, “And… it’s good to know that so many others in the Empire noticed what a disaster Broysc was. According to Ovech, even another Moff expressed gratitude for Broysc’s death - anonymously of course, but the sentiment wasn’t hidden.”

“Have you heard anything from Lucian?”

“He’s still in Ovech’s detail, and no disciplinary action against them has been taken. They’ve been moved from Cato Neimoidia to the Tarisian system, now that the research station is no longer viable. Also - and Ovech didn’t mention this to me, Lucian did - it seems as though Ovech is being considered for promotion. With Broysc dead, there’s an empty position as Moff that needs to be filled, and Ovech is the best pick.”

“That’s excellent!” She’d definitely trust Ovech over Broysc, and the major struck her as someone well suited for command. He’ll do well if he gets chosen. “Malavai, may I ask? Would _you_ want to be a Moff?”

He hesitates for a moment before replying, “Someday, perhaps. I won’t deny that it’s an ambition of mine. Is there a particular reason you ask?”

She slips her hand into the crook of his elbow, not quite too personal for a public place but still something, “We spoke earlier about the careers we’d _like_ to have as opposed to how things are now. Neither of us had an answer, but it got me thinking. You hated Broysc in part because he kept you out of the war effort, stuck on Balmorra for a damn decade. You could have been promoted a number of times since then, you’re certainly a very capable officer.”

There’s a flash of genuine surprise in his eyes when she compliments him. “Thank you for saying so. And yes, you’re right, I suppose. When I was a child, I wanted to be a colonel - my father’s rank.”

“Really? Did your father approve?”

“Yes, he was quite patriotic. He sent me and Lucian to military school as soon as possible, and was very devoted to his own service. I think it was also a relief for him to not have to worry about my career path.” He laughs slightly at the memory, “Lucian, throughout various points in our childhood, wanted to be in a swoop gang, a bounty hunter, and a professional speeder racer. We both grew up. He became a pilot, and… I decided to set my ambitions higher.”

“For what it’s worth,” she tells him sincerely, “I think you’ll do well in a higher position. You’re devoted to the Empire and tactically brilliant - a good combination for command. I’d promote you if I could.”

There’s a faint smile on his lips as he replies, “Well, you _are_ a Lord. I shouldn’t disgrace you by being too far below your own station.”

“You know that doesn’t matter to me,” she assures him.

“I do.” He glances back to her and smirks, “By the way, that’s an interesting jacket you're wearing.”

She tugs on the sleeves, her face feeling hot. This might not have been her smartest idea. “If you want me to take it off…”

“Not at all.” He leans in, his words whispered in her ear, “Besides, I’d prefer to be the one to take it off you.”

That throws her off guard for a second as she imagines his hands on her, carefully stripping away her clothes until it’s just skin on skin. She bites down on her lip, before seeing Malavai begin to worry that he’s overstepped. “I’m sure we can arrange that,” she says, trying to sound smooth despite her blush, “If you like me wearing your clothes, you should provide me with more opportunities to steal them.”

“You know that it’s against regulation to wear a uniform if you’re not an officer?”

“Really?”

“I wouldn’t lie about regulations, _my lord_.”

“Is that a punishable offense, then?”

Malavai hesitates for a moment and then asks, “Would you like it to be?”

Would she? She remembers how it felt when he kissed her before, his hand in her hair, not tugging, just guiding her, controlling her movements as long as she let him. “Yes, I think. Maybe we could… discuss this later?”

He glances over to the shuttle waiting in the hangar bay, “We _do_ have a mission to complete. After it’s finished, perhaps?”

“Something to look forward to then,” she says, trying to kick her brain back towards thinking about work. They’re on Quesh for a _job_. A likely useless mission, given how Quesh is a Hutt filled, adrenal oriented skirmish at best, but still a mission nonetheless.

She tugs him down to quickly kiss him. Now that she can, she finds herself kissing him whenever he lets her. “Let’s go kick some pubs off this damn planet.”

~*~

“Watch your side,” Pierce snaps, “You’re leaving yourself wide open - someone could shoot you and put a hole through your kidneys without even trying.”

Jaesa really does appreciate the lieutenant helping her out with her fighting skills, especially given that her master is under so much stress lately. She’s just not quite in the mood for Pierce’s usual methods of teaching. Every strike she delivers against the training dummy blurs before her eyes until she sees Ker’ah instead of a droid. It’s not a sight she wants to relive every time she fights and she’s trying to work through it. Pierce isn’t helping.

He’s barely even paying attention to her, sitting at a table and cleaning out his rifle, “Stop acting like the droid is going to bite you,” he says, “Fight back.”

Just ignore him. She adjusts her grip on the training staff, attempting to clear her mind. This was much easier to do when she was a padawan. The droid hovers towards her, attacking with one of the saber drills that she’s programmed it with. She blocks, parries, taps its side with her blade to score a hit.

Pierce scoffs, “That’s what I’m talking about, kid. You’re hesitating.”

“I am _not_ ,” she says.

“Right.” He sets his scope down on the table and turns to face her, “Show me then.”

Jaesa calmly stares down the droid. It’s easy to scan for the openings in its guard and she can see the path her staff could take towards somewhere that, on a person, would be vital. She raises her staff -

“Dead.” Pierce declares, pointing his fingers at her like a blaster and pretending to shoot, “Want to try it again?”

“You’re behind me,” she points out, “The droid isn’t.”

He’s not even annoyed with her, that might be better. His emotional current is so casual that she knows he’s not lying - no, he’s being very honest. In fact, she’d say he’s trying to rile her up on purpose. “Yeah, I am behind you. You really think you’re alway gonna be in single combat? If you ask me, you’ve gotten too used to fighting with Gimrizh or myself. Got used to having someone watch your six.”

Better to rely on others than succumb to solitude and paranoia. “That isn’t a bad habit to have. My master is capable in combat, and so are you.”

“People aren’t always going to come through,” he says with certainty, “and you won’t always have backup, so you shouldn’t rely on it. Didn’t have any on Hutta, did you?”

With a wave of the force that’s angrier than she wanted it to be, the droid deactivates and slumps to the ground. She lowers her staff and faces him, “I know that you’re trying to provoke me. To make me angry. It won’t work and I’d appreciate it if you stopped.”

“Aren’t you Sith supposed to always be angry?” Pierce asks ever so lightly.

She stops. Turns her power on him. Not digging, just looking at the surface to skim through his most visible emotions and thoughts -

“Knew it,” he comments. He returns to fixing his scope, unbothered by it, which can’t be right, because he knows, she _knows_ he knows, it’s right there in his mind. “You’re too… calm. The boss can’t control her emotions for shit, but you’ve always been better at letting show only what you want. Not great, obviously, this little blow up proves that. Still, you do this thing in a fight where you try and calm yourself down… pretty obvious, kid.”

She gapes at him, “And you don’t…?” Needing an answer, she dives a level deeper into his thoughts, “No, you don’t. It really doesn’t bother you.”

“Need all types to win a war,” he says nonchalantly, “Besides, you’re way too damn loyal to Gimrizh. No way _she’s_ a traitor. Wasn’t there when you were recruited, but I figure she had her reasons. You’re a good kid, Jaesa.”

He… actually means it. She stops looking through his thoughts and pulls back, “Thank you. Um, you should know that this is a secret. My master says that most Sith would disapprove, despite the fact that I’m now fighting for the Empire. I don’t think the rest of the Empire would exactly be welcoming, either. I’m a defector. The only reason I’m trusted as I am is because my master has me registered as a fallen Jedi who fully turned to the dark side.”

“I can keep my mouth shut,” he tells her, “Anyone on the crew I should be quiet around?”

“No, just around others when we’re planetside, please. I can keep to myself, most of the time. Like right now.” They have privacy here, soldiers too scared of the idea of two Sith to go near their quarters in the garrison.

Pierce is actually annoyed by that, “Krething hells. Fucking _Quinn_ found out before me?”

“Um,” she says, eloquently. “Yes? He figured it out a few months ago?”

“Damn it,” he grumbles.

Really? She just admits that she’s not really a full Sith and _that_ ’s what he’s irritated by? For all her abilities, maybe she doesn’t understand people that well after all.

There’s a comforting hum in the force as Vette saunters into the room and Jaesa perks up.

“I’m back! Also the boss is on her way back, but more importantly check this out!” she says, practically bubbling, “Okay, we all know that Quesh is a trash planet, yeah? Well apparently they have all these super cool succulents growing here that can survive without air or water for a super long time.”

Vette holds out a plant sitting in a small metal case. Jaesa leans over to look at it. It’s smaller than her palm, splattered with bright red and purple colors. Strange as it looks, it’s actually rather pretty. She pokes it. The thick waxy leaves feel almost like some kind of gelatinous plastoid. They bounce in the most adorable manner.

“What’s it called?” she asks.

Vette hands it over to her and presses a kiss to her cheek, “No clue. But it’s yours, babe. Figured it be the kind of thing you’d like.”

It _is_ , Jaesa adores growing her own plants. She used to have a set of flower beds when she lived on Alderaan. The best gift though, is knowing that Vette’s thinking about her. “You’re the best. This is wonderful.” She carefully puts the succulent down on the table, not wanting to scatter any of the dirt that it’s been planted in, “Oh, and Pierce knows now. About me.”

Vette grins, “Sweet! I figure he’s chill with it, right?”

“Doesn’t seem all that important, if you ask me,” Pierce remarks, “None of you were that subtle either.”

There’s a spark of mischief in Vette when she laughs, “Oh, we were subtle _enough_. Also - also, Quinn figured it out before you did! Hah!”

“Fuck you, I’m still pissed about that.” He lightly punches Vette in the shoulder. “How long did it take you?”

Vette shrugs, “About… five minutes.”

“Wow,” Pierce chuckles at Jaesa, “You’re not very good at this, are you?”

In her defense, she was never trained for a circumstance in which she’d have to impersonate a Sith. It just sort of happened.

“Who’s not good at what?” Gimrizh asks. She and the captain are standing in the doorway, having apparently returned from meeting with Commander Ollien.

Vette points at Pierce, “He knows about Jaesa now. Whole gang’s in on the secret!”

At least her master isn’t upset. If anything, Jaesa would say she’s relieved. Hard to tell though, she can only catch the smallest of glimpses before her master shuts their training bond down and Jaesa doesn’t look closer out of respect for privacy. Anyway there’s not much harm Pierce would do. She’ll be able to tell if he’s going to turn on her, he wouldn’t be able to hide that. Emotions that directly pertain to her safety tend to have a way of bubbling to the surface of the force.

“I see,” Gimrizh says coolly, crossing her arms, “Do you have any questions?”

Pierce shakes his head, “No. Seems clear to me.”

There’s a second of silence while one of many small strings of worry detaches itself from her master’s mind.

“Good,” Gimrizh nods, “Then to business. Ollien reports that a Republic task force is trying to set up base in a series of tunnels and is going to place enough explosives there to disrupt all Imperial communications as well as destroy most of our outposts on the front lines. We have rough coordinates and will be heading out first thing tomorrow morning - standard time. Pierce, you’ll be accompanying me.”

“My lord,” Quinn protests, “are you sure that’s the right course of action? The lieutenant is… perhaps not the best choice.”

“It sounds like we’ll be scaring a bunch of pubs away from explosives,” Gimrizh explains. “Pierce knows how to deal with bombs, and he’s the most intimidating person we have. Another Sith would do, but I want Jaesa here. If something goes wrong - and my luck hasn’t been that good lately - I’ll need to be able to instantly communicate with the Imperial base here. Jaesa stays behind.”

The lieutenant is distinctly smug as he agrees, “Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you in the morning then, boss.”

Gimrizh gestures towards the door, “Jaesa, with me.”

Jaesa picks up her little potted succulent and follows her master through the base up to the rooftop. It’s warm and humid out, the sky a stunning burnt umber as Quesh’s sun sinks across the horizon. Because Quesh has such incredibly long days, sunsets here last for hours. It must be strange to live on a planet so out of sync with standard time. But perhaps, occasionally, the odd beauty is worth it.

“So…” Jaesa says nervously, “are we talking?”

Her master sits down on the duracrete, her legs dangling over the edge of the roof, “If there’s something you want to say, then sure. Wouldn’t you rather sit down first, though?”

Jaesa takes a seat. “Master… I…”

What does she _say_? How can she admit that after begging to be allowed to take this mission and all her planning she still failed? She didn’t just kill another faceless enemy, someone trying to kill her, someone she couldn’t stop any other way. She killed a potential ally. Vette told her it was self defense, that Ker’ah would have killed her if she hadn’t killed him first. Only Vette wasn’t _there_.

If Jaesa had tried harder, Ker’ah would still be alive. She’d have secured an ally for her master and she wouldn’t feel like such a burden to the crew.

“I killed someone for no good reason, master,” she says quietly, forcing the words out into the air, “He might have attacked me, hurt me, but that shouldn’t have caused me to react the way I did. If I’d been better, I could have stopped him peacefully. I could have calmed him down, convinced him that I wasn’t… He’s dead for no good reason and it’s all my fault.”

She can sense her master’s sympathy for a moment before Gimrizh tries to hide herself in the force again. “Did he try to kill you?” Gimrizh asks.

“I don’t know,” she admits, “He was just scared. I think he wanted me to leave, more than anything else. I escalated it when I didn’t have to and now he’s dead because I couldn’t control my own actions.”

Her master shrugs. “Everyone kills out of self defense. It’s not a crime.”

That’s not the problem, not really. Jaesa’s killed to protect herself and others before, she even did it when she was a padawan. This is a different issue. “It’s not that, master. It… it felt like even the force was out of my control. Like I couldn’t do anything.”

“You’re not falling,” Gimrizh states calmly.

“Aren’t I?”

“If you were, you would be able to tell. _I’d_ be able to tell.”

“How can you be sure about that? Sorry master, I just... “ Jaesa takes a deep, shuddering breath before speaking, “It just felt like I couldn’t stop myself. Maybe I wanted him to die on some level, maybe I let the dark side in a long time ago and didn’t notice, maybe I’ve already fallen only it’s not… not normal… I don’t know…”

Her master shakes her head, “It’s not that. What happened to you was _just_ an accident, it wasn’t the dark side controlling you or whatever it is you're worried about.”

Why does it sound like everyone is trying to convince her it wasn’t her fault? Jaesa _knows_ that it was. “But you can’t be sure! What happened to me was… I know that the dark side strips away control, precision, clarity. It could have been that. I could have… lost myself.”

“The dark side is an emotional experience,” Gimrizh explains, “The fact that you regret it so strongly, so soon afterwards, is telling.”

“It’s been weeks since I killed Ker’ah, and even if I didn’t regret it right away, it was still…” Jaesa tries to calm the uncertainty that’s eating her alive. “If it was the dark side, master, how do I move forward from this? I don’t have the answers myself. I’m lost.”

Gimrizh leans back, lying down on the roof and staring absently up at the sky. “How old were you when you killed someone for the first time?”

That seems pretty irrelevant, “I was twenty. Master Yonlach and I were in the desert and Tusken Raiders attacked.”

“I was fourteen,” her master says, “It was a sparring match. Practice weapons, overseers nearby, just training. I became enraged. The dark side was so easy to tap into, so welcoming. I was so furious that I threw my weapon aside, wanting nothing more than to rip my enemy’s flesh with my bare hands. I’d never done it before then, but I reached out with my hands.” She stretches her hands up to the clouds, curling her fingers around something that’s only there in her mind, “I crushed his throat under the weight of my hatred. I _loved_ it at the time. To this day, I’m not sure if I regret it. So no, Jaesa, you have not fallen. The dark side would have consumed part of you if you killed Ker’ah because of it.”

It’s terrible that Jaesa should feel relieved at that. What her master has been through honestly hurts her to think about, but at the very least, she hasn’t fallen without thought like that. “How did you move on?”

Gimrizh laughs, a flat, ironic note. “You think I moved on? I never dealt with it. The simple fact that you’ve been talking about this, to Vette, to me, it means that you’re already helping yourself through it. It’s quite admirable, really. That you can pull yourself back up and set yourself on the right track.”

“But… what do I _do_ , master?”

“You decide, right now, that you never do that again. You decide who you want to be. And the next time you try this, the next potential ally you find, you don’t let this happen again.”

“And if the next person tries to kill me too?”

“Then you ask yourself which option you’d regret least. Their death or yours. I don’t have a perfect answer, Jaesa. There _isn’t_ one. There’s just the one you can live with and the one you can’t.”

That, of all things, brings a smile to Jaesa’s face. “Master, sometimes you sound a lot like Vette.”

Gimrizh coughs, “She’s… you know. Right. Often. Do _not_ tell her I said that.”

They settle into a comfortable silence, watching the sun slowly inch downwards, sinking behind the mountains.

It’s painful to hear parts of her master’s history. She has always admired Gimrizh’s ability to drag herself towards the light even while still working as a Sith. When she first met her master, when Gimrizh was about to kill her and then stopped, with her lightsaber blade an inch from Jaesa’s neck, it had been a revelation. Jaesa had been impressed by the clarity of mind that her master possessed. She’d really wanted that to be an enduring truth.

To think that the dark side can exacerbate such hate is terrifying. If her master lost her way so badly as to kill a fellow student without even thinking about it, what could happen to Jaesa if she herself ever lets the dark side in? Who’s throat would she crush?

“Master,” she says with certainty, “If I ever fall, I want you to stop me. I don’t care what that takes. I never want to be like that. I never want to risk hurting the people I love because of the dark side.”

Her master flinches, “You’re asking a lot.”

Jaesa knows that. Her master might be alright with the dark side, but if it clouds Jaesa’s sight like that, she wouldn’t be herself anymore. She’d be some strange, angry person wearing Jaesa’s skin. “I am. That’s why I’m asking you and not Vette.”

“I won’t,” Gimrizh declares. She stands up suddenly, angry now, “If you’re dead, nothing matters anymore, does it? If you’re alive, no matter what happens to you, you can still do _something_. The dark side - even if you’re afraid of it - it’s not permanent. Death is. If you fall so what? You’ll _deal with it_.”

“Master, I wasn’t -”

“Stop being so afraid of the dark side. You can control it too.”

Only she _can’t_. Jaesa knows that now. The farther she falls, the less control she has. She understands that, there’s a tradeoff. Power in exchange for control, going the opposite direction closer to the light side. “Just… consider it. Please, master.”

Gimrizh sighs, “Think about what I said. If you still are so certain after this mission, try to convince me then. You need to think this through and I doubt you have.”

“Thank you for the advice, master,” Jaesa relents as Gimrizh leaves.

~*~

Foris and Gimrizh set off for the Poisonwater Mining Operation when it’s still dark out. They’ve borrowed a speeder from the forward ops post and Gimrizh has carefully flown through the mountains towards the coordinates on her datapad.

“This is the place.” She tosses him the speeder keys and uses the force to push the vehicle into a large bush. Part of the front is still sticking out between the leaves. “Good enough.”

There’s a wide cave entrance in front of them, probably part of a network of tunnels that runs through these mountains. So on the plus side, they’re probably pretty far away from any hostiles. The negative side is also they’re probably pretty far away from any hostiles. Spending who knows how long wandering through caves that could be trapped to hell and back without any idea of how close they are to enemy contact is not his idea of a good time.

“Can you tell where they are with the force?” he asks as they enter the tunnel.

She shakes her head, “From a distance, not really. Once we get closer, if I’m concentrating, then yes. If we wanted a sensor, then we would have brought Jaesa. It hardly matters, we’ll run into the Republic eventually.”

“Force sounds like a bunch of bullshit if you ask me.”

“That’s… pretty accurate. If a force user ever tells you that ‘the force works in mysterious ways’ it really means they have no fucking clue what they’re doing.”

He laughs, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The tunnel is a good thirty feet in diameter, with portable light fixtures and glow packs scattered along the way. Even if this cave system was some sort of natural formation at one point, it’s been completely taken over by the Republic.

It forks up ahead. “Got any idea which way to turn?”

Gimrizh frowns at the two different paths and closes her eyes. “Right. I think, at least.”

“Mysterious ways, huh?”

They turn right.

More glow packs light up the ground now, a few ammunition crates and medical supplies laying in the dirt too. They must be getting close. Give it another ten minutes or so and they’ll likely hit a patrol.

“Wanted to ask you something,” he says, “now that we have a minute.”

She looks surprised, “Really?”

“It’s about the Bastion. Heard of it?”

“Some sort of massive military target on Corellia, I believe. Our invasion of Corellia failed during the war, in part because of our inability to take the Bastion. One of the overseers on Korriban was particularly frustrated by this - although, to be fair, most everything frustrated him, including myself.”

She’s not wrong, although it hurts to hear one of the greatest command posts Foris has ever had the honor of trying to crack described as _just_ a military target. “Black ops was preparing to take the Bastion back during the war. Large scale assaults didn’t work during the skirmishes on Corellia, but after the Treaty was signed, we thought we had an option. We were running low-profile missions, keeping under the radar. We’d have cracked open the Bastion the same way - run a small but effective mission to get in and let the Empire take over from the inside out. Would have worked too, until black ops got shut down.”

“The war has returned to Corellia,” she says, catching on quickly, “A full scale assault this time. I take it there’s a new opportunity?”

Foris nods, “General Rakton’s working on something big, some plan to take the Bastion. My team’s the only ones who can do it. We’ve been ready to do this for a decade now, if they bring in some green squad it’ll go up in flames.”

He’s reminded of why he decided to join up with her crew when all she asks is, “What do you need?”

“Permission, firstly,” he lists, “Going to need some time off when we’re ready to make the assault. Maybe use a few of your connections to talk to Rakton if I have to.”

“Done,” she readily agrees.

That was… quick. “No hoops to jump through?”

“You’re an excellent soldier, Pierce, and whoever you chose to be part of black ops is probably up to your high standards. I can’t think of anyone more suited to strike the Republic,” she says sincerely, “Not to mention you’ve done enough work on my crew to qualify you for a good deal of time off, if you want it. Besides, conquering the Bastion could do a lot for the war effort.”

He grins at the thought of finally being able to bring that fortress down, “Could win us Corellia. Could win black ops a place in history.”

“You’ll have earned it.”

The moment is ruined by a squad of Republic forces coming around the bend in the tunnel.

“Hey!” One of them yells, grabbing a blaster and aiming poorly at them, “You’re imps! This is trespassing!”

Gimrizh shrugs, “Guess we found where they’re hiding.”

Three soldiers are no match for the two of them. Foris pulls his rifle from his shoulders and pegs two in the head. He can hear the hiss of lightsabers and looks just in time to see Gimrizh practically fucking launch herself through the last guy’s torso.

She skids to a stop and flicks her lightsabers off, “There’s a bunker just up ahead. I think I can sense more soldiers inside.”

“Maybe those ones will put up a decent fight,” he comments.

Sure enough, the open doors of a bunker loom ahead of them right as they turn the corner. There’s another squad waiting inside, one of them fiddling with a massive bomb that’s been built into the tunnel walls. If that thing goes, the whole tunnel could collapse and kill everyone nearby. Not a whole lot can withstand a fifty ton boulder to the head.

“Has our mysterious problem been solved?” the Republic captain asks, pacing in front of the bomb, “Are we active?”

The second, a corporal, straightens up to look the bomb over, “Sir, best guess is yes. All systems appear to be online. Your detonator should be live.”

“There’s little good it will do you now,” Gimrizh declares, striding towards the Republic.

The captain almost goes for his blaster, until Foris aims his rifle straight at his head. “We knew this was a possibility. Sith, I’m prepared to detonate even if it means we all die. You’ve just wandered into your own funeral!” He holds up a detonator and presses it before Foris has a chance to shoot.

Nothing happens.

“What?” The captain hits the button again and again, “No, come on! Detonate!”

“Performance issues?” Gimrizh asks with fake sweetness, “I’ve heard that can happen to men your age."

The corporal glances back at the bomb, “Uh, sir, I’m not sure what the problem is.”

She crosses her arms, “Give up. Live to fight another day. Even if you can get that bomb working before we can kill you - which I sincerely doubt - attacking us just so you can die in a massive explosion is pointless.”

“Doesn’t matter,” the captain declares, throwing the detonator to the side, “All we have to do is kill you and -”

Foris shoots.

The pub slides to the ground, blood steadily trickling from a bolt to the head. “Really?” Gimrizh asks, exasperated, “I was going to offer him a chance to surrender.”

“Letting pubs go isn’t my style, boss,” he tells her, aiming at the other two men, “and you have to admit, this is more fun.”

She sighs and reaches out her arm at the corporal, “Oh fine.”

“What?” The corporal - just a kid really - stumbles backwards, trying to get away, “No - don’t - we -”

There’s a sharp crack and then he can’t say anything anymore with his neck at that angle. His corpse drops and Foris takes the chance to shoot down the last of the Republic soldiers, some grunt trying to skirt around them and make a run for it.

Gimrizh dusts off her hands as they head for the doors, “That’s not my idea of fun.”

“Got the job done, didn’t it?” Foris says.

There’s a strange beeping from somewhere. Gimrizh stops in her tracks and fishes out her holo, quickly accepting the call.

A Sith that Foris remembers from the last time they spoke to Baras fills the blue projector field, “Well well well. Mission accomplished, eh?”

“Draagh,” Gimrizh says flatly. “Have you been eavesdropping on us?”

“As a matter of fact, I was. I’m afraid there are a few facts that you should be aware of. You see, Captain Trey-yen was sent here by one of Baras’ Republic moles. And the explosives set up were not wired to the captain’s detonator. The real detonator is right here.” Draagh pulls out a second, identical detonator.

Shit. There’s no damn way Foris can disarm that bomb, it’s way too complicated, and he’s not worked with that type before. And if the Sith has the detonator, it doesn’t bode well for them.

Gimrizh goes deathly still, terror unmistakably creeping over her. Stupid, they can’t afford to have her freeze up. Not right now. Some force bullshit might be the only thing to get them out of this. “So. Baras is stabbing me in the back.”

“Our master prides himself on being one step ahead everyone,” Draagh smugly explains, “That includes you. He knew someday you would rise against him and decided to nip that problem in the bud. You were the fiercest of his pawns. I consider it a privilege that he’s allowed me to pull the trigger.”

“This will be your fate too,” she snaps.

Draagh chuckles, “You let me worry about that. Our master sends his regards. Goodbye.”

He presses the detonator as Gimrizh drops the holo into the dirt.

Fuck - the hell can they do -

“Sorry,” Gimrizh says and then she slams her hand into Foris’ chest.

He goes flying as the bomb explodes. All he sees is a flash of fire and rock, hears the roar of the blast shred his ears.

Everything goes black.

~*~

It feels like Malavai hasn’t been able to breathe for over an hour.

“Right here!” Jaesa leans over the edge of the speeder, pointing ahead of them, “Stop here, this is it!”

Malavai cuts the speeder’s accelerator and stops as fast as possible. At first he’s not sure why the hell Jaesa had them stop here, there’s nothing here. Then he sees what looks like a landslide or a cave in. Did Gimrizh get trapped inside? Did the Republic manage to detonate that bomb before she could stop them?

“This is the place alright,” Vette declares. She kicks a bush out of the way, revealing a standard Imperial speeder. Exactly the one that Gimrizh left with. “Can’t see a trail though. Not sure which direction they went.”

Going by the way Jaesa’s staring at the rocks, he’d say the answer’s obvious. “They went inside the mountain.”

Vette pales, “Oh.”

“Back up please,” Jaesa requests. She reaches out and starts peeling off the rocks, sending them flying behind her one by one.

Thank the force. They can get Gimrizh out.

Jaesa scrambles down into the opening she’s created, “I found Lieutenant Pierce! Help me make sure he’s alright!”

Damn it, the lieutenant is the first one they’ve found but Gimrizh is still missing? It should be her they find instead. Why the hell did he let Pierce go with her to begin with? The lieutenant might have been a good pick but out of the entire crew, Malavai has always thought that he is the least loyal. Jaesa and Vette would have taken a blaster bolt for her without hesitation. As for Pierce, well, now they know the answer to that question.

The lieutenant is lying in the rubble that Jaesa hastily shoves off him. The man should be fine, it looks like he’s been heavily bruised, but there aren’t any obvious broken bones or major internal damage. Minor cuts, nothing that he could bleed out from. Maybe some smaller fractures, easily fixed with enough kolto.

“I’ll wake him.” Malavai sets his medkit down on a rock and opens it, selecting a large dose of kolto and a tiny amount of adrenaline. He has to take off Pierce’s durasteel bracers before he can find a vein for the injection.

Vette’s practically humming with worry, fidgeting with her blasters, “Is he gonna be okay?”

Regrettably yes. “Ask him yourself.”

“Wha…” Pierce mumbles, slowly coming to. He blearily opens his eyes and tries to push himself up, “Where the hell am I?”

Jaesa kneels by his side, gently helping him sit up, “Careful. You’ve been injured. You’re just outside the cave system. I sensed my master’s pain in the force and we came as quick as we could. How do you feel?”

“Could do with a fucking painkiller,” he grumbles.

Malavai’s not wasting anything on the lieutenant when Gimrizh is still out there somewhere, possibly in far worse shape. “What happened? Where is Lord Gimrizh?”

“It was a trap,” Pierce spits out, “A krething trap. The pubs were sent by some Republic spy - one of _Baras’_. That fucker Draagh called when we were done and told us force-damn everything then blew the place sky high. Fucking betrayed. Baras stabbed Lord Gimrizh in the back like a fucking coward.”

No that’s not possible. Yes, they had been certain that Baras now viewed Gimrizh as a threat, but he’d assumed that there would be a different form of repercussion. Increased surveillance perhaps, less important missions. Contain the threat, not destroy it. Malavai _knows_ without a shred of doubt that Gimrizh would never have betrayed Baras.

They are both well aware that Baras is a threat they can’t contend with. Malavai’s not about to say that Gimrizh’s loyalty to Baras was particularly slavish, but she had no intentions of ever betraying her master. While Gimrizh certainly is a powerful Sith Lord, she’s still relatively inexperienced. She lacks the connections and power base that Baras has used as a cornerstone of his entire career. Without some sort of outside interference, she’d never have been able to successfully turn on him. She knows this. _Baras_ knows this.

To try and kill her first is a foolhardy move. Gimrizh is one of the most powerful offensive assets in Baras’ arsenal and he’s apparently just thrown her away. How paranoid is Baras that he’d be so afraid of a betrayal that would never have come?

And Malavai handed nearly every piece of information on her to Baras.

“And you did what, lieutenant?” he asks harshly, desperate to push some of the blame off himself, even for just a moment. “Leave her to die?”

“Like hell I did!” Pierce snarls, “She fucking threw me out with the force! I didn’t even get a damn chance to say something before she sent me flying! Krething hells, you bastard, like I would have fucked off and let her get blown up!”

Vette stares at the wall of rocks and rubble, “She threw you out of _that_?”

The lieutenant slowly nods, “Yeah. I was trying to come up with a way out and she just - hells. It was like she had already thought the whole thing through before. No damn hesitation. I owe her my krething life.”

“So she’s still…” Vette trails off.

Jaesa points towards the collapsed cave, “She’s still in there. She’s alive, but unconscious. I… I don’t think I can get her out on my own. I think I’d pass out before I could move all of this stone out of the way. If we had another force user or if she were awake…”

“Then we’ll call the forward ops post,” Malavai says, trying desperately to come up with some way out of this. If she doesn’t make it - if they can’t save her, then her blood will be on his hands. “They can send reinforcements with excavating equipment, or if you prefer, another Sith to aid us.”

Pierce scoffs at that, “You think that we’re going to get help from the Empire if Baras tried to kill Gimrizh? The bastard’s as paranoid as I am, and the first krething thing _I’d_ do would be to make sure we’re denied any damn help we try to get. Hell, you think Baras _doesn’t_ have a spy on Quesh? Someone who’d show up to help us only to put a bolt through her head and finish the job?”

Damn it, he hates it when Pierce is right. “Then we try and get her out anyways. However we have to.”

“Alright,” Jaesa agrees. She stands up and faces the tunnel entrance, “Keep a safe distance please. I might not be able to control any potential landslides.”

“But you’ll…” Vette protests, “you could be hurt too.”

Jaesa gives Vette a quick kiss, “I’ll be fine. My master needs me.”

Malavai grabs his medpack and Vette helps Pierce move out of the way.

“She can’t die here,” Vette says quietly, “She just _can’t_.”

Pierce leans against a rock, dabbing at a cut on his forehead, “She should have left me behind instead.”

“Yes,” Malavai agrees bitterly. In that moment he’s not sure who he hates more, the lieutenant or himself. “She should have.”

~*~

“She’s dead, master,” Draagh informs him, “I blew her up myself.”

Baras places the jar containing Tremel’s hand up on a shelf. She killed her master for him and now he has killed her. Everything comes full circle. This closes one more chapter of his career. It is rather a pity that he didn’t get any last relic of Gimrizh’s to keep before she died, he’d have rather liked a bit of her to put on display.

“Have Commander Ollien report her as killed in action,” Baras orders, “Then return to your post on the front lines. Now that her, and the situation on Voss, have been dealt with, I’m going to summon the Dark Council.”

He has ambitions to fulfil now that his most dangerous apprentice is out of the way.

~*~

Servant One looks down at the woman’s body. She’s breathing, but only just, her eyes flickering behind her eyelids. It is not his place to question the Emperor. Whatever she might look like now, she is clearly worthy in some manner. Her eyes slide open a crack. She isn’t fully conscious, not really, yet she’ll remember what is said. They have instructions and a test to give her.

“Interest justified,” says Servant Two, “Shall I revive?”

She’s still not lucid. He wonders how strong she truly is, if this can bring her so low. “Offer no help. We must be sure. If she survives the trek to safety, then her worth will be established.” He kneels down next to her to ensure she hears him, “We will wait at the command center exactly one day for you. Do you wish to survive?”

He can tell she’s fading. That won’t do.

Servant One touches her forehead and slides into her mind. She’s a mess of emotions - pain, confusion, fury, terror.

 _Do you desire life?_ he asks.

Through the turmoil, words emerge, _I don’t want to die_.

He breaks the connection and stands back up, “If she lives, she will come to us.”

~*~

Everything hurts. There’s no light. Gimrizh could see earlier, see two red faces staring down at her, but now there’s just blackness.

She’s still alive though, and that’s all that matters. She’s still alive and she refuses to die. Not here, not in some cave on Quesh, not at the hands of that bastard Draagh. Damn it she’s going to _live_. She can still hear that strange man’s voice in her head, asking if she desires life. Of course she does.

 _We will wait at the command center exactly one day for you_.

She reaches out into the force and slams it into the rocks, trying to push them out of her way as fast as she can. One more minute spent trapped in this mountain feels like an eternity. Dirt gets packed underneath her fingernails as she shoves the rubble to the side. Light streams in from a crack between the rocks.

“Master!”

Jaesa grabs her hand.

~*~

She’s alive, Malavai keeps telling himself as he kneels by her side and injects her with kolto. She’s alive and he still has a chance to fix his mistakes.

“The hell are we going to _do_?” Vette mutters, perched nervously on a rock, “Is she going to be.. you know… okay?”

Gimrizh might have a slight concussion, but she’s lucid enough that Malavai’s not too worried. He’s given her enough kolto that any potential head trauma should heal quickly. Right now he’s more concerned with her two cracked ribs and her left hand, which has at least one broken bone and is a mess of blood and dirt.

“I’ll be okay, Vette,” she says uncertainly, “Right?”

He hates that, the way she automatically turns to him for comfort, the way she honestly seems to rely on him. She should hate him for what he’s done and instead she doesn’t even know. He’ll make amends for this. He _should_ make amends for this.

After this, after such a seemingly stupid move, how is part of him still loyal to Baras? Gimrizh has done nothing to deserve being killed, but has Baras? In all the time he’s known Baras, the man has done nothing that wasn’t for the overall good of the Empire. Is this just the exception that proves the rule, or has Gimrizh actually done something that would warrant execution?

It’s ridiculous he’s even thinking that. Of course she hasn’t. He knows that while she sometimes uses unorthodox methods to accomplish her missions, she’s never hurt the Empire. Sometimes what she does works better than the more traditional approach. She didn’t deserve this. He can’t believe he’s trying to defend Baras’ actions here and yet… It just doesn’t make sense.

When he started to serve on Gimrizh’s crew he thought that working for Baras at the same time wasn’t a conflict of interest. Like an idiot, he hadn’t seen this conflict coming, he thought that he could do both. That both fell under his general service to the Empire. Falling in love with Gimrizh was an accident and now he needs to pick a side.

“You’ll be fine, my lord,” he tells her. He tries not to let her see just how concerned he is as he scans her left hand, “You’ve broken your second and third metacarpals. Kolto won’t heal those immediately, please avoid moving your hand for a few days.”

She looks down at her hand and grimaces, “At least I can still fight one handed.”

“I hope there won’t be a need for that.” He cleans the blood off her hand and wraps it tightly to keep the bones in place while they heal.

“Unlikely. If Baras figures out he didn’t properly off you the first time, he’ll try again,” Pierce comments.

If Malavai tells Baras that she’s still alive… It would be easy. He’s spied on her before, there’s a precedent. Hells, Baras is in command of the Sphere of Military Offense, technically it’s Malavai’s _duty_ to report that she survived. Aiding her, in a way, would be a form of treason against the Empire. He should report her but he finds that even the thought of doing so seems unbearably wrong.

“What do we do then?” Jaesa asks. She’s exhausted too, leaning heavily on Vette, “If Baras comes after us again, what are we going to do?”

What _can_ they do?

“The command center,” Gimrizh suddenly says, her eyes widening, “There was… When I was unconscious, these two men, Sith, they… they found me. I don’t know how the hell they got in or out but they were there. One of them entered my krething mind. They told me they would wait for me at the command center.”

Vette rolls her eyes, “Yeah that’s suspicious as fuck. You’re not seriously thinking of going, are you?”

“I am,” Gimrizh decides, “And I’m on a deadline. They said they would only wait for one day. I’m going, and I’m going alone.”

She most certainly is not. “My lord, you’re injured,” Malavai reminds her, “Your fighting will be impaired. You’ve had one attempted assassination against you today and you are not increasing that number. For that matter, since Lieutenant Pierce was clearly unable to protect you earlier, all of us are going.”

For once, Pierce agrees with him, “He’s right. I want to punch him, but he’s right.”

“And if it is Baras’ assassins waiting to kill me?” Gimrizh spits out, “Then what? You all become traitors? You’ll all bring Baras’ wrath down upon yourselves? I’m already a lost cause but you can still save yourselves. Baras will try and _destroy_ me, utterly and without mercy. You want that to happen to you too?”

Pierce shrugs, “As far as I can see, that already happened to me. Can’t speak for anyone else, but I was there too. Baras already showed he doesn’t give a damn about me. Can’t stand that kind of attitude. Better prove him wrong.”

Even force-damned Pierce is braver than Malavai. How the hell has the lieutenant already made a decision while he’s still trying to decide if aiding Gimrizh is technically treason or not? He’s a coward.

Those are the only two facts he knows. He loves her and he’s a coward.

“Yeah, dude’s right. I mean, I’m a former slave, I got _nothing_ to lose,” Vette declares.

Jaesa nods along, “I’m not even technically a Sith, master. No one else would allow me to serve the Empire as I am now, and there’s no way I could or would return to the Jedi Order and the Republic. Either I fight by your side and risk death, or I get reassigned to a different master and guarantee it.”

“You can’t just -!” Gimrizh glares at them all, “I won’t let any of you be hurt for my mistakes!” She turns to Malavai, “You know I’m right.”

He does. Her argument is sound, but it’s too late for any of them to leave. “My lord,” he says quietly, “I’m not leaving your side unless you wish it. None of us are. This was decided a long time ago.”

“Damn it,” she mutters, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, “Can’t any of you be selfish for once? We _can’t_ win against Baras! I knew that when I became his apprentice, I knew this whole time that if he ever turned on me my life would be forfeit! I’m as good as dead and I can’t watch you let yourselves die too! So just shut up, leave me, and think of your own best interests for stars sake!”

They should, Malavai thinks. Only none of them are going to and he can’t either. “That isn’t your decision to make, I’m afraid.”

“It should be!” she yells at them, “This is my fault - I should - I’m _not_ worth it - Baras is going to kill you!”

“Or you could kill him first?” Vette suggests, “Come _on_! You’re acting like we don’t have a chance but we _do_! Maybe these weird Sith can help or maybe if they’re Baras’ assassins then we’ll stop them!”

“Vette!” he snaps at her.

Jaesa gasps as Vette stomps over, “No! She needs to listen to me!” Vette yells, “You think I don’t get it? I’ve been here this whole damn time! I was there on the first mission Baras sent her on and I _know_ that she’s been krething _terrified_ of Baras since she became his apprentice! We watched him _torture_ someone to death - I know what we’re up against and I know that Gimrizh is better than him! She can _beat_ him!”

Gimrizh’s shoulders start to shake with anger and that is _it_ . Malavai stands up and glares at Vette, “You don’t know Baras like I do, none of you seem to fully understand what we are up against - you’re treating it like a joke! Baras has a spy network that stretches all across the galaxy and he’s made his career out of sabotage and assassination. In essence, _we_ function as a strike team. We lack a great deal of resources that Baras has easy access to. And you are all acting as though we can defeat him easily!”

“I always thought you were too damn respectful of Baras,” Pierce snarls.

“I’m treating him as a legitimate threat, instead of someone easily crushed. You might try it sometime, it yields better results than underestimating your enemies - ”

“Sounds like you admire the man though, and you did say he has a shit ton of spies. Who’s on that list, huh - ?”

A rock goes flying and slams into the mountain. “ _Stop it!_ ” Gimrizh rages. She’s normally cold and sharp when angry, this is new. “I _know_ that in single combat I could defeat Baras! Only we’re not in single combat, we’d be fighting him blind. None of us know his next move, or how much he knows, and all of you have something to risk! I _cannot_ stand to see you all die because of me!”

Jaesa slowly steps forward, “Master… you can’t stop us. You can’t think of this as a situation where either you die or we die. You are not a sacrifice to be thrown at Baras in exchange for our lives. I know that Vette is just as afraid of death as you are, but she’s made her decision. I’ve made mine. Let us help you.”

“But  I don’t know what to _do_!” Gimrizh admits.

None of them do. “You don’t have to, my lord. You aren’t alone, and I’m certain that between the five of us we can come up with something. Perhaps these strange Sith might provide some insight. We’re disadvantaged, not doomed.”

She stares at him and he can see her give in, “I can’t let you die.”

“There are like… a billion ways to die,” Vette says, her anger fading to her usual annoying upbeat self, “We’re on Quesh, for kriffs sake, we’re literally breathing poison. I mean, stars, I could trip, fall, tumble down this mountain, and die that way. Yikes.” She shudders at the thought, “I’m saying, you can’t stop that from happening.”

“... You’re all so determined to do this, aren’t you?” Gimrizh asks, as if she’s hoping they’ll give up eventually.

Vette almost claps her on the shoulder before Malavai glares at her. Honestly, does no one understand the concept of ‘injured’? “We’d never leave you to face Baras alone,” he promises her, and stars above he hopes that’s a promise he can keep.

“Then to the command center,” she reluctantly allows.

~*~

“I see you survived,” Servant One acknowledges. The woman looks battered and injured, but alive and her crew has joined her. That ability to inspire loyalty in others is a quality that will serve her well in her new position. “We are impressed. You are worthy of becoming the Emperor’s Wrath.”

She must not know the title, understandable, given how Scourge had previously kept it for so many years. “I’m in no mood to play around. You have till the count of three to explain yourselves.”

Testy. But not without reason. “We are your allies. I am Servant One, this,” he gestures to his companion, “is Servant Two. Together, we are the Emperor’s Hand.”

“Do you expect me to bow or something?” she drawls.

One of her crew, the captain, quietly informs her, “Overseers of the Emperor’s will, my lord. They mostly work in the shadows, to be frank, most assume them to be just rumors. And they technically hold no rank, so no, you need not bow.”

“Ah.” She doesn’t appear any more respectful of them, instead, more guarded. How unbalanced. She switches between defence and offense too readily. Either too aggressive or too cautious. If she is to survive as the new Wrath, she should learn to play a longer game.

“The Emperor,” Servant One tells her, “tasks the Hand with a great undertaking, and you are to become his Wrath. Darth Baras seizes power against the Emperor’s wishes. He must be stopped.”

She doesn’t seem surprised by this, “I suppose it’s too much to expect him to take a vacation day after trying to murder me. Alright, surprise me. What exactly is he up to?”

“Since the Treaty of Coruscant, the Emperor has withdrawn from the known galaxy, preparing for a great calling,” he explains, purposefully vague. She is still just a smaller piece in a larger game. Like foot soldiers, the knowledge she requires to do her job is limited. “Baras learned of this and now claims the Emperor speaks through him. If the Dark Council declares him the Voice of the Emperor, he will have supreme power over the Empire.”

“The Dark Council is supposed to be clever, isn’t it?” She’s bitter. Just towards Baras, or towards the Council as a whole?

Servant Two speaks, “The ring of the Sith is tarnished.”

Clearly, she does not understand. His companion’s words are not often easy for others to comprehend. “The Dark Council has been waiting for word from the Voice. Many are desperate to hear it speak again.”

“And I’ll assume that he can blackmail, bribe, or otherwise dispose of the rest who might oppose him,” she guesses, quite correctly. “Where is the Voice?”

“The true Voice,” Servant Two says, “has been silenced.”

Before she can ask how - a tale for another day - Servant One continues, “In the Voice’s absence, there is nothing to deny Baras’ claim. Baras means to force the Council to bow. But he believes you to be dead. That is our advantage. Your first opportunity to tear down what Baras has created is on Belsavis, a planet that was hidden from the Empire in the last war. We shall send further instructions when you arrive.”

“That’s it?” she questions, “You both have already decided that I’m going to become your Wrath? So certain of the outcome of my choice that you won’t even let me make it?”

Servant Two is amused, “The Wrath is out of tune.”

“I’m not a song,” she snaps.

“You would refuse the Emperor himself?” Servant One calmly asks.

Defensive again. “No. Of course not. Forgive me. I am merely… it has been a trying day, to say the least. I’ll head to Belsavis as soon as possible.”

Once she and her associates have left, Servant Two laughs. “The Wrath must build before reaching pitch.”

“Yes,” Servant One agrees, “She lacks a great deal.”

~*~

Upon mistakenly answering the wrong holo, Tremel takes one look at the transparant pink woman and just says, “No.”

It’s not his holo, he’s not dealing with it. With an annoyed burst of the force, he slides it across the table to Quorian.

“Hello?” Quorian starts, just as apparently confused as to why there’s a strange holo woman inhabiting the device, “Can I help you?”

“Oh good!” she chirps, ecstatic, “You’re Jedi Dorjis, yes? Of course you are, you are a perfect facial recognition match! Hold on a moment, please. Tharan! I’ve got the Jedi on call right now!” She takes a look at something out of the holo field, “Ooooh, you’re transmitting from Imperial space, now aren’t you? That’s fantastic!”

“Um,” Quorian says.

The holo feed cuts to static as apparently it gets handed off to someone else. Quorian looks up and silently pleads with him.

Tremel takes a sip of caf, “I refuse to assist you with this. Besides, I’m technically dead.”

Some human that Tremel’s never seen before steps into the field, “Jedi Dorjis, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m Tharan Cedrax. Our mutual friend, Jedi Thutrel Rineth, provided me with your holo frequency in the hopes that you might be able to assist me in a most delicate venture. Something that, for the moment, could not be shared with the Jedi Council. If you’d be willing to aid me, that would be most appreciated. Is this a good time to talk business?”

Tremel smirks into his caf as Quorian double checks to make sure he has pants on. “Yes, this is,” Quorian says, “And I’m certain that there won’t be a problem with the Council. Whatever you ask goes no further than this call, even if I decide not to help you. You have my word as a Jedi on that.”

“Most appreciated,” Tharan replies, “Now, Jedi Rineth informed me that you managed to escape from Korriban to Coruscant in the past, is that correct?”

Quorian hesitates but doesn’t deny it. “I did. I had assistance at the time, however.”

“That’s fine, I’ll have two others with me,” Tharan waves it off, “I want to know if you can do the reverse?”

What and why? The man’s clearly Republic, and also clearly not with the military or with the Jedi Order. He’d get killed in a second on Korriban. Tremel could have killed the man without even thinking about it.

Quorian blinks slowly, “You want me to get you from Coruscant to Korriban?”

“No no, that’s foolish,” the man says, “I want to get to Dromund Kaas. Why would I want to travel to Korriban, honestly? The weather there is ghastly.”

It is _not._

“I’m afraid that the only reason I was able to escape Korriban was because I had inside help,” Quorian insists, “Help that I will be unable to commandeer for whatever goal you have.”

Tharan doesn’t seem to get the message. Clearly, the man is slightly insane. “Clearly you can get to Imperial space easily enough, Holiday did mention that’s where the call signal is coming from. How did you get back in?”

Quorian coughs, “I can’t help you myself, sorry. I can put you in touch with someone that can though? The only person I know who’d be willing to smuggle multiple people into Dromund Kaas. I’m sure he’d be able to offer you more assistance than I can, although I’ll understand if you’re hesitant to trust a stranger.”

“That’ll be most appreciated,” Tharan says enthusiastically.

“Transmitting his frequency now.” He sends the number off and then asks, “Is there… anything else you need?”

Fortunately, Tharan seems finished for now, “That’s fine. Thank you for your assistance.”

The call ends and silence stretches over the two of them. Quorian stares at the holo as if he’s still not sure that actually happened.

“So.” Tremel sets his mug down with a _click_ , “Were you attempting to punish the man by giving him Zirin Zarnun’s frequency?”

“It was the only thing I could think of? Besides, Zarnun is… eccentric, but in the end, I doubt he’d be willing to transport Republic agents into the most highly defended area of Imperial space, even for credits. Especially since he’s working for the Republic now. Hopefully Mr. Cedrax will remain on Coruscant, where it’s safe.”

“If you ask me, Zarnun is more insane than you realize.”

~*~

Gimrizh perches on the edge of her chair, curled protectively around her broken hand. They’re still docked in Quesh’s orbital station, and the durasteel shutters have closed the bridge viewport. She stares at a slow blinking light on the computer terminal as she tries to figure out what the hell she’s going to do now. She knew, logically, that she’d been in a perilous position with Baras after she killed Vengean, but she hadn’t expected this. She’d wanted to redeem herself, to prove to Baras that she wasn’t a danger. Not out of loyalty to the man. Out of a desire to stay safe. Being Baras’ apprentice had a safety to it that she couldn’t have achieved on her own.

And now she’s lost that. Even if she flew back to Dromund Kaas and got down on her knees to beg to return to her place as Baras’ apprentice, he’d just use the opportunity to finish her off for good. Why couldn’t he see that she would never have betrayed him? Even now, even after he’s tried to kill her, she’s still uncertain about going after him. She has no desire to go up against someone who could destroy her like Baras could. The odds aren’t solidly in her favor and she’s so hesitant to risk it all like that.

Does she even have a choice? If she doesn’t fight Baras, what happens then? She’d have made an enemy of the Emperor himself, she’d have to run from everything she knows, she’d either ruin the lives of her friends or have to abandon them.

In the end, there isn’t a choice for her. She feels numb and a little terrified.

The bridge door slides open. That’s odd. They aren’t going to leave for Belsavis for a few hours and she thought everyone had left _Horizon_.

Malavai hesitantly steps in carrying his medkit. “I apologize for the intrusion. I wanted to make sure your injuries were healing properly.”

“My ribs are fine,” she informs him, patting her hair down and checking to make sure that she hasn’t been crying. She stands up, smoothing out her wrinkled pants with one hand. “There isn’t any pain anymore, it’s just my left hand now. It still hurts when I move it. I’d rather not take any more painkillers though.”

“That’s probably for the best, as you are approaching the advised limit for medication,” he agrees. He places the medkit down on one of the chairs and she can see the tension and stress linger on him.

While her new position is technically a promotion, they’ll be working in secret until she faces her former master. That’ll likely include working against Imperials. She doesn’t want to do that to him. It’s hard for Pierce and Jaesa as well, but neither of them have the same devotion to serving the Empire that Malavai does. Does he resent her for it?

“Malavai? Are you alright? Stupid question, I know, given everything that’s just happened. It’s just - earlier you said that you wouldn't leave, but that was before we knew about all this,” she struggles to think of a word, “all this _bullshit_ about the Hand and the Emperor, and I - well if you don’t want to be here, it would be completely understandable. I could never blame you for choosing to leave.”

“You are selfless as ever,” he comments, his words almost bitter. “Forgive me.”

Out of everything that has happened, the fault lies more heavily on her shoulders than his. “For what?”

His hand cups her cheek in a move that’s tender and sad at the same time, “I find myself torn between service to the Empire and to you. There should not be a difference, certainly the rest of the crew does not see one, yet I second guess myself at every turn. I never thought I would have to choose between the two and now I find that I must decide.”

“Choose the Empire,” she tells him. She’s not worth it. After everything he’s been through from Baras and Broysc, with everything that his career means to him, he should never choose her over that. It’s not a fear without basis, the repercussions will certainly be steep once Baras discovers that she’s still alive and fighting him. She has nothing. Malavai has his career, his brother, his entire life in the Empire. He shouldn’t compromise that.

“It’s a bit late for that,” he admits, “I already made my decision.”

No - he didn’t. Why _would_ he? “What?”

“I did tell you that I would stay by your side until you ordered me away, did I not?” he reminds her, “It seems as though everything is sliding out of my control but this at least is a choice I have made myself.”

He chose her. Oh _stars_ , he chose _her_.

She leans into his touch, trying to chase away the numbness and the fear. Slowly, she turns her head and presses her lips to his pulse. “I love you,” she says quietly, trying to convey just how much those words mean to her, “I _love_ you. And I too must ask your forgiveness, for I keep doubting that you love me.”

“I do,” he assures her, “most ardently. There is no need for apology - you _should_ doubt me. You should not be so certain -”

“Malavai,” she insists, cutting him off before he can discredit himself. She doesn’t want to be afraid anymore and she wants him more than she needs to breathe right now. “I’ve been certain since the first time you kissed me.”

She’s thrown off guard a moment later when he grabs her roughly by the waist and pulls her in for a searing kiss. It’s almost pathetic, how desperately she clings to him, and it’s certainly unbecoming of a Sith, how easily she lets him guide their kiss. The way he tugs her head back, his tongue burning against hers, it’s utterly glorious. She wants - _needs_ \- to give in, to be used, just as much as she suspects he needs to chase away that feeling of powerlessness.

Romance isn’t something she’s particularly familiar with and it’s so difficult for her to tell when their easy back and forth and what she’ll admit is more than a little lust gave way to the all-consuming feeling in her chest. Naming it as love is obvious.  

Malavai breaks their kiss, running his hands along her hips and biting her neck, not hard enough to break skin yet enough to make her gasp. The light pain loops back into her growing arousal, making every sensation more intense.

“This is possibly a very poor decision,” he says, and it is entirely unconvincing.

Poorly timed, given that she’s presumed dead by the Empire and their lives are on the line in a way they haven’t been before, maybe. Other than that, no. She wants this. She’s been wanting this for longer than her pride will let her admit. “Maybe. You know, regret’s just the past tense of indecision.”

With one finger under her chin, he tilts her head up, “You are perfect, Gimrizh. I could never regret this.”

“Oh, I - _oh._ ” There’s such honest affection in his eyes and faintly radiating through the force that it hurts her.

Words escape her and she leans forward, crushing her lips against his. There’s a bit of confusion at first, when he thinks she wants to take control and tries to give way, easily clarified by the desperate moan she makes when he pushes her up against the terminal. He keeps his hands on her hips, steadily holding her where she is as he drags his mouth across her neck, down to her collarbone, biting ever so torturously just above her breast. Reducing her to a hot, panting mess.

She finds the buttons on his shirt and starts to pop them open. At the last minute she remembers not to use her broken left hand. Halfway through, she gets impatient and tugs on his shirt. “Malavai,” she whines, “why is your uniform so needlessly complicated?”

“You’re so hasty.” He grabs her wrists, holding her hands in place. If she moves her left hand even the slightest bit it would hurt like hell. There’s an infuriatingly attractive smirk on his lips. “Have patience, _my_ lord.”

The possessiveness of that sends shivers down her spine. Unable to use her hands right now, she pushes herself closer, pressing a kiss under his jaw and grinding her hips against his, heat pooling in her stomach as she can feel his erection straining against his trousers. Her efforts are rewarded when she hears his breath hitch and he lets one of her hands fall.

Then he’s winding his free hand in her hair and sharply pulling her. It’s not too painful, just baring her throat and keeping her where he wants while he kisses her, a hot deep kiss that leaves her struggling to breathe. It gets both better and worse when he lets go of her other hand to rest his against her hip, playfully grabbing her ass and tugging her closer.

“Oh _stars_.” She whimpers as he hooks his thumb under the elastic on her pants, “ _Fuck me_.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Is that an order?”

Part of her brain short circuits. “I - I mean - we’re on the bridge.”

“Your room is just across the hall.”

“That’s probably a good idea.”

Neither of them move to leave. The tiny part of her that insists that he’s embarrassed to be with her quiets somewhat when he doesn’t go. She knows how concerned he is with propriety. What this would mean for him. Also she almost died today. Both of them could die on their next mission. One minute to rush to her quarters seems like an eternity of waiting.

There’s less than an inch of space between the two of them and she already thinks that’s too far. “My lord,” Malavai says, his voice lower than usual, “I’m going to take you right here, on this desk, unless you order me not to.”

That’s the hottest thing she’s ever heard him say, “Good thing I’m terrible at giving orders.”

She catches a flash of his smile before he’s kissing her again, more forcefully this time, his teeth scraping at her lower lip.

“If it’s too much...” he asks.

She tries to make her reply sound a bit flippant and then ruins the effect with the needy sound she makes as he bites sharply into the crook of her neck. That’s going to leave a mark. “Then I’ll _tell_ you. I’ll do whatever you want if you make me, you know.”

“Really?” he teases, “ _Anything_ I want? That’s very open-ended. Perhaps you haven’t thought this through.”

“I’m not some blushing virgin,” she replies. And she’s not, she’s merely desperate to surrender herself to him, “I know what I’m offering.”

“You can always change your mind.”

“I _know_.”

She reaches for him again, this time with both hands, and he stops her. He looks critically at her broken hand. “I’m tying these up before you hurt yourself.”

Honestly, she’d agree to almost anything he suggests right now. There is a bit of mild annoyance that she can’t undress him like she wants - like she’s been imagining for a long while. “But you’re overdressed,” she says slyly, “and I can’t fix that problem if I can’t use my hands.”

The stern expression in his eyes immediately tells her she’s not going to get her way. “I’ll take my clothes off when I deem you ready to be fucked.”

On second thought, _that’s_ the hottest thing she’s ever heard him say.

“Oh -” she stammers, “Okay then.”

He makes a circular motion with his finger, “Turn around.”

She obeys instantly. It’s difficult to stand still while he slowly takes off her chest wrappings, every brush of his fingers against her skin making her shiver. Once it’s gone he gently brings her hands behind her back and uses the long strip of cloth to tie them together.

The knot is tighter than she was expecting. While she can still move her fingers, her hands and wrists are pinned in place. There’s not much she can do but she tries to wriggle her left hand anyway. As punishment, Malavai lightly slaps her ass, surprising a yelp out of her.

“Didn’t I just specifically tell you _not_ to make your hand worse?” he scolds.

“I’m sorry,” she quickly apologies, forcefully holding her hands still. Once she stops struggling, the pain in her hand goes away and it becomes easy to let the tight fabric hold her in place. There’s also that lingering thought in the back of her mind, that if she seriously asked him to untie her, or to stop entirely, he would. The only person really keeping her bound is herself. “I- I won’t do it again.”

The mild humiliation she feels shouldn’t be a turn on yet it is. She’s shaking ever so slightly as she stands before him, wanting to cover her chest, to touch him, to do anything and completely unable to do so. His gaze is almost disdainful as he looks over her body. Her eyes flicker towards his and then she glances away, unable to meet his eyes, the gesture seeming almost too personal or too rude, as though she isn’t allowed even though she knows that’s not the case.

“That’s better.”

“I can -” She twists slightly so that she’s facing him, uncertain what favor she’s going to offer, “If you want I can-”

“I think not.” He pushes her around and presses down on her back so that she’s bent over the terminal, nudging her legs apart with his knee and making her gasp. “Hands where I can see them, since you are apparently determined to injure yourself.”

The tension of the knot against her wrists is almost comforting. Everything else though - the cold metal against her bare skin, the weight of his palm on her back, how her legs feel unsteady, how she can barely move unless he lets her - it’s the most delicious form of torture.

When he softly kisses her skin, she can barely feel it and it takes her a moment to figure out why. That’s her scar. The white circle over her shoulder from a lightsaber, the scar tissue dulling sensation.

She goes stiff as she realizes. That’s one of the ugliest parts of herself.

“Gimrizh?” Malavai asks, his hands pausing over her chest. “Is this alright?”

It doesn’t matter to him, or if it does, not in the same way as it does to her. He really doesn’t mind. “It’s good,” she replies, relaxing back into the bondage and the security of his touch, letting herself go. “You have no idea - please don’t stop.”

She can almost hear his faint smile as he replies, “Since you asked so politely.”

There’s no hesitancy in his actions as he tugs her pants down over her hips until she’s completely naked. She shifts her legs, making it easier for him as he slides a hand between her inner thighs. His fingers draw slow circles around her clit, stretching out her pleasure like a taut wire, pulling back ever so slightly when she writhes against him. It should be embarrassing, how obscenely wet she is, but she’s so desperate for him that she barely cares.

He traces a line down across her cunt before sliding a finger inside her. A moan starts low in her throat as she pushes back against his hand, trying to take more. Stars, she burns hot at his touch, just one finger feeling almost too much, how the hell is she going to be able to take his cock? Barely giving her any time to adjust, he adds a second finger. Part of her had expected he would take his time, but time is the one thing they both don’t seem to have.

“Malavai,” she whines, squirming, “ _Please_.”

His other hand rests on her waist, pushing her up against the terminal and stopping her from bucking her hips against his hand. “Please… what?”

Pride has abandoned her, her thoughts, when coherent, are only how she can make him happy, how best to please him. What he wants from her and how best to give that to him. “Please fuck me,” she begs.

He pulls back and immediately she worries she’s said or done the wrong thing. Without his fingers, she’s achingly empty and she couldn’t bear it if he left her like this. Then she hears the sound of him undoing a zipper and the fear turns to eager anticipation.

She only realizes she’s started to tug on her restraints again when he holds her wrists down and steadies her. “Hurt yourself, and this stops,” he warns.

Forcing herself still, she just nods, unable to think of a smart reply.

It seems like an eternity before she feels him enter her but stars is it worth it. She can hear his own low moan as his hips settle against hers, taking a moment to compose himself. The stretch is krething amazing, the heat of him even more so. She arches her back, needing some kind of friction as the rough metal of the terminal scratches against her breasts.

Still restrained, he starts to move, slow deep thrusts that leave her gasping. She rolls her hips in time with his, trying to rise up to meet him. Tight heat coils in her as she gives in to the wet glide of skin against skin. She can’t help but moan when he hits that sweetest of spots inside her.

Malavai grasps her hips, guiding her, “That’s it,” he murmurs, “let go for me.”

He shifts and then one of his hands is stroking her clit, quick circles in time with his thrusts. It takes everything out of her to resist the urge to ball her hands into fists, his warning still echoing in her mind.

She’s pleading with him too, just nonsense of _yes, please, I can’t, Malavai please_.

It’s the greatest relief when she tips over the edge, crying out as she comes. Waves of pleasure rush over her as she rides out her orgasm. She’s so blissed-out she almost doesn’t notice when he follows her a moment later, his fingers digging into her hips when he finishes.

They’re still for a bit, she can hear him getting his breath back and she feels so boneless she doesn’t know if she could move if she tries.

Eventually, they pull apart. Malavai carefully unties her hands, holding her steady as she pushes herself up. Everything is sore when she slowly rotates her wrists, but nothing’s hurt. Just pleasantly painful. She moves so that she’s sitting properly on the terminal. His face is flushed from exertion, and she can distantly sense his emotions through the force - satisfaction, pleasure, _love_.

“That,” she says breathlessly, leaning against his chest, “was incredible.”

He wraps his arms around her and for the first time in a long while she feels truly safe, “It wasn’t too much?”

She shakes her head, careful not to poke him with her horns, “Not at all. I would have told you if it was.” She smiles, “In fact, I wouldn’t protest if you wanted to do that - tying me up - again. Whenever you wanted.”

“I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

Comfortable silence stretches between them. They’ll have to move eventually, pretend like nothing happened when the rest of the crew returns, but they have a moment of peace for now, and moments like this are likely to be few and far between in the coming months. She lets herself bask in that feeling of being protected and cared for, impervious to all dangers in his arms.

“Sorry I doubted you,” she whispers, “I’ll never do it again.”

He pulls back to kiss her, sweet and chaste, “Like I said, you have nothing to apologize for. Absolutely _nothing_.”

~*~

Rycus Kilran watches from behind a transparisteel wall and two energy barriers as Celebris and Darth Zhorrid fight each other. It’s the first time they’ve let the former Barsen’thor have access to her lightsaber since the Taris incident, and he is curious to see what happens. With reasonable limits, of course. There’s a shock collar around her neck in case anything goes awry.

“Zhorrid seems quite enthusiastic to help with this project, doesn’t she?” he comments to his quiet visitor. “You knew her well, do you think she’ll be an asset to me?”

The Chiss woman stares down into the training arena, “Zhorrid is childish, as are her desires. You’ve already done all you need to exploit her. And if you want to turn the Barsen’thor into another brutish Sith, then congratulations. You’re well on your way.”

If only it were that simple, “A brute isn’t what I desire. Celebris was a brilliant strategist and absolutely ruthless in battle. One of the finest generals the Republic produced, even though she was a Jedi. While I doubt that she could ever return to her position on the front lines, that’s not what I need her for. She has the potential to be an excellent assassin, and _that_ is someone I could use.”

“You’re replacing me with a Sith. I’m insulted.”

“Not quite yet. As I said, she has potential but she’s unstable. She doesn’t do what she’s told. As she is now, she could hurt the Empire. I need her to take orders.”

The former Cipher Nine pauses. Her blank red eyes glare at him, “So. That’s your play.”

“Really, why else would I have let you in here?” Rycus replies, “You practically track me down and break into the Citadel, I could have called security and had you executed ages ago. But you have something I want. While I’m impressed with your ability to so completely disappear, I know that you’re still loyal to the Empire. This is for the _good_ of the Empire.”

She laughs, “It’s for _your_ own good, you mean.”

Below them, Zhorrid throws Celebris into a wall. Such potential, like setting up the pieces of a game and waiting for the right time to make the first move. “They cannot be the same thing?”

“Don’t you have those two other Sith in your pocket?” Cipher asks, still avoiding his main request, “The ones that rushed to help you during the Maelstrom? Kallig and Korribanil? I’m certain one of them can kill whoever you want.”

If only. “Kallig has allied himself with Moff Pyron and is spending his time on some silly quest to overthrow Darth Thanaton.”

“Stupid Sith and their constant squabbling,” Cipher Nine bites out, “Such a waste. And Korribanil?”

“Dead,” he informs her, “Killed by the Republic on Quesh.”

She sounds almost bored when she replies, “If Korribanil actually died I’ll dance naked on Csilla. Darth Baras is making another power play.”

Rycus had suspected the same, although it’s nice to have it confirmed. “Regardless, she’s out of my reach. I need the Barsen’thor ready to take assignments as soon as possible and since you went out of your way to delete every single scrap of information about you, your crew, and half of Imperial Intelligence’s databanks, you are one of the few people I can ask.”

“I’ll tell you about their brainwashing program the day the Emperor gets on his knees before the Chancellor,” she announces.

“Such a shame you’re so opposed to the idea,” he says mildly. He doesn’t want to show his hand too soon, after all. “I really do need an assassin of her caliber.”

Cipher Nine scoffs, “Hire some idiot. That seems to be good enough for the Empire these days.”

“Perhaps. How much do you charge?”

“I left Intelligence for a reason and that reason wasn’t credits. If you want me to do your dirty work you had best come up with a _very_ good reason, _very_ quickly, or I might just assassinate _you_ instead.”

“Well if you did, then this little letter I found might just get released all over the holonet,” he says. He always enjoys his conversations with her. It truly is like playing a game. “You were good when you tried to hide your crew, but this little gem was a carbon copy. Flimsy cannot be hacked. I wonder what the Sith would do if they found out that you’ve been hiding a force sensitive with such potential away on your ship. Little Raina Temple should have gone to Korriban _years_ ago. That’s my price. Raina Temple in exchange for one quick death.”

For a few moments he thinks maybe she’ll try and kill him anyway. “Well played, Kilran,” she says at last, “Who do you want me to kill?”

“The Minister of War. Do try and make it look like an accident.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's in the tags now, but I'll just go ahead and mention it here, Tremel/Quorian Dorjis is going to be a thing in this fic. A very mild, background thing, mostly them sneaking across space every other weekend to bone.  
> To answer a couple of questions that I've gotten: this fic will be going past the end of the SW storyline and into expansion content, Thutrel/Theron is also going to be a thing, and Quinn's interlude chapter is going to be ch 27.  
> Like something? Hate something? Comment and let me know!


	23. A Dread Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait here, I had a fuck ton of midterm studying to do. As always, shoutout to my fab beta FallenAscendant!  
> This chapter, aka: "Excuse me, stop insulting my girlfriend", average Imperials who did not sign up for This, and I accidentally quote Kakashi from Naruto because I guess I just can't shake the shadows of my trash past.

“Hey!” A familiar voice calls out, “Thutrel!”

Thutrel stops in his path, looking back over his shoulder to whoever is calling his name. It’s been such a while since he’s been back on Coruscant, but he didn’t think he’d run into that agent again, not after the Maelstrom Prison Incident had been resolved. He waves Scourge on ahead, and the tall red Sith nods before leaving the Senate Tower.

“Agent Sh- Theron.” Thutrel bows with a slight smile on his face, “It’s good to see you again. How have you been?”

Theron looks dumbfounded for a minute, “How have _I_ been? Oh you know, _fine_ , when not worried about a team of Jedi masters going after a high profile target and then vanishing off the face of the galaxy? How have _you_ been?”

It’s touching, that this agent who he’s only worked with once in the past noticed his absence. “I have been… less than fine. I survived my encounter against the Emperor thanks to sheer luck and an unpredictable ally. Kira in particular has been hurt during the confrontation, as well as… It wasn’t pleasant. We lost a lot of… of good…” He takes a deep breath. “Apologies. Recent events have left me shaken. And I have just received some less than ideal news regarding our efforts to take down the Emperor.”

“Do you, uh,” Theron gestures like he’s hoping Thutrel will read his mind, “Wanna… talk about it?”

He can’t remember the last time someone asked him that question. It’s such a _non_ \- _Jedi_ thing to ask. “That’s very kind of you to offer. Unfortunately, I have to decline. I must depart to Belsavis on pressing business. The war leaves little time for anything but work and battle.”

“Yeah, of course, that makes sense,” Theron quickly agrees, “But you know. The offer’s open. If you want it. I’m one of the few people with high enough security clearance to actually listen to some of the bullshit you have to go through.”

Thutrel doesn’t quite know what to do with that. In his experience, he’s always been the one offering, never the one receiving. “Thank you. Truly.”

Seemingly in lieu of a better gesture, Theron awkwardly claps him on the shoulder, “Good luck then. Go fight the good fight.” He hesitates before walking off, “And I know you’re off traipsing through the galaxy, but next time you’re on Coruscant, let me know. It’d be good to know you’re not dead and all.”

“I shall,” Thutrel promises. “May the force be with you.”

~*~

Vette loves mornings. It’s the most bright time of day, when everything’s all fresh and there’s still new hope for the day’s events. She still likes mornings on ships, even though none of that really applies, given how there isn’t planetary time in hyperspace, just galactic standard to keep them on schedule. Sunrises are definitely missed.

There’s still a chipper feeling to her mornings. The sharp smell of caff wafts throughout the galley, mixed with some kind of earthy tea smell - Jaesa left the container out on the counter with the lid off again. She drops enough sugar and flavored creamers into her caff to turn it into sweet mocha deliciousness and stirs. They’ve only been in hyperspace since yesterday, and it’s another day to Belsavis, give or take a couple hours. And what with the strange ‘Emperor’s Hand’ mumbo-jumbo that happened yesterday, everyone seems to be taking a bit of time to mull things over.

At least Jaesa, while shaken up by Gimrizh’s most recent near death experience, has been doing better than she has for a while now. Last night, when Jaesa had climbed into Vette’s bunk and curled up around her like a cuddly dianoga, things had seemed almost okay.

“Morning!” Vette chirps as Jaesa and Gimrizh stumble into the galley, both of them all gross and sweaty after training.

Jaesa plops down on the seat next to her and kisses her, “Good morning.”

“How was…” Vette vaguely waves her hands with not a small amount of confusion, “...stabbing?”

There’s a thud as Gimrizh uses the force to pull the box of instant caff towards her instead of picking it up like a normal krething person. “Jaesa’s progressing very well. Fighting with one hand is the damn worst and I hate it and I never want to have to do it again. I cannot _wait_ until my stupid hand is fixed and I can go back to fighting like normal.”

To punctuate that statement, she crushes a few caffeine pills to dust over her mug with a wave of her hand.

“Master, your issue with fighting one handed is that you become unbalanced. If you try to work out that problem, it wouldn’t bother you so much.” Jaesa pauses to stifle a yawn, “When I disarmed you, it wasn’t because you lack skill, it was because you suddenly tried to go on the offensive when you had no opportunity. Fighting without your secondary weapon unnerves you - it’s just a mental block.”

Vette raises a finger, “Question! Did you say you beat Gimrizh?”

At the counter, Gimrizh fumbles with her mug and almost drops it. “She didn’t.”

“Uh-uh,” she teases, “I distinctly heard Jaesa say that she disarmed you. There was some stuff after that - I’m sure it was insightful - but I didn’t miss the ‘disarmed’ part.”

Jaesa shrugs, “It was mostly an accident. In real combat, it never would have happened.”

“Yeah, but this will provide me with excellent blackmail fodder for years to come,” Vette points out, cheerfully grinning at Gimrizh, who is becoming more and more annoyed.

Gimrizh… who is wearing a shirt?

“Hold on!” Vette says before anyone can say anything, “I sense a disturbance in the force!”

They both pause and look at each other. “Um, babe?” Jaesa reminds her, “You aren’t force sensitive.”

“No, no, there’s something wrong with this picture,” she replies, gesturing to Gimrizh, who’s started to hurriedly finish making her caff, “You two were _just_ working out. You know, sweaty and gross? We don’t land on Belsavis for almost two days. Why are you wearing a shirt? A turtlenecked shirt, at that? Wouldn’t it, to quote you from just last week, ‘just get dirty anyways and then I’d have to do laundry and it would just be a waste’?”

Gimrizh grabs her mug, “As fascinating as this conversation has been, I think I’ll take my leave now.”

That’s too hurried an attitude for something not suspicious. “Ah-hah!” Vette declares triumphantly, “Avoidance! I’m onto something and you know it!”

“Bye.”

“No I need to know why you’re wearing a shirt it’s very import - annnnd she’s gone.”

She sinks into her seat when it becomes clear that Gimrizh isn’t going to duck back into the galley anytime soon. Well that’s her quota of ‘annoy the heck out of Gimrizh’ filled for the day. Gotta stay in practice or else she’ll get rusty when she needs her magnificent annoying abilities the most.

Jaesa pats her on the shoulder before getting up to make another cup of tea, “It might be best if you let her be for a while. She’s been through a lot.”

“You can tell?”

“Not particularly. She’s got this habit of keeping her emotions pretty close to her chest and I’m not using my power unless I have to - it feels disrespectful. But she let a bunch slip through yesterday when she thought we were all going to die. And I… might have insulted her when we spoke on Quesh.”

Yikes. She knows how Jaesa holds Gimrizh in such high esteem. If there were insults, then things must have been heated. “Seriously insulted her, or mildly? Cause I mildly insult her all the time and that works out okay.”

Jaesa starts staring at the cup of tea in her hands like it’s a portal through which all answers shall be revealed. “I erm. Might have implied that… that dying would be a better choice than falling to the dark side. Which, I know, is horrible. Given both that she’s terrified of death and has spent her life serving the dark side. Or partially serving it? I swear, it’s as though she doesn’t even see how close she walks to the light side.”

“Self image issues,” Vette slowly nods, “Fun. She seemed to treat you the same now though. What are you worried about?”

“That she secretly hates me for what I’ve said, thinks I have no place in the Sith or amongst the Empire, and doesn’t want me to be her apprentice anymore because of my failings?”

“... Try again.”

“Mildly irritated, but isn't saying anything because she doesn’t want to start another argument?”

“Yeah, let’s go with that.”

Jaesa sighs and leans against the counter, “Sorry. I’ve been more stressed out than I should be lately. Everything keeps getting more precarious and it seems as though there isn’t any time to breathe before the next crazy event tries to bulldoze our lives down. How do you manage to remain so wonderfully on top of things?”

“What?” Vette replies, trying very hard to sound casual, “I’m not, you know, stressed out about anything, what do I have to be worried about? All the crazy shit is happening to other people?”

That doesn’t hold water for even a second. “Your mother. Do you have any leads on where she is? I know she and Tivva are often in your thoughts - and no, I don’t have to read them for that to be readily apparent.”

And she’s called out. Vette rests her head in her hands, “No. I’ve got nothing. Sent a message to the bounty hunter that I hired last time and he _said_ he’d take the job, but… I haven’t heard anything so far. I tried to holo him, see if there were any updates. He told me, and I quote ‘I’m busy!’ before dropping the call. I mean, I’m still pretty sure he’ll deliver, cause him and this girl with him have got a rep for getting results. It’s just taking longer than I’d thought it would.”

Jaesa reaches across the counter to gently squeeze her hand, “You’ll get your mother back. You’re too tenacious for anything less.”

“Thanks,” Vette says, smiling up at her, “I’ve waited this long, right?

“You should not have had to,” Jaesa replies. She says it with such certainty that it almost hurts, as though there’s no doubt in Jaesa’s mind that the slavery that separated Vette from her family should have no place in the galaxy. It’s reassuring.

Tivva hadn’t thought anything of Vette’s vague half formed fantasies, but Jaesa has this way of making the impossible seem possible, if the cause is just. “Do you think it’d be possible to get rid of slavery? Not just in the Empire, but the Hutts too. All of it. So that people like me and Tivva wouldn’t have had to find each other, we never would have been split up.”

Jaesa gets that serious look of someone contemplating an unsolvable problem. “I’m not sure. It’s not just a social problem, it’s an economic one as well.”

“I’m _sure_ that the galaxy has fixed more challenging economic problems,” Vette insists.

“Hmm, true,” Jaesa agrees. She stirs her tea with her fingertip while she thinks, “The problem is, I’m uncertain how to go about doing it. The Republic has tried to outlaw slavery, but achieved nothing. It’s a tricky law to enforce, even if you managed to get the Empire to agree to such a thing, which seems unlikely given their history of using slave labour to accomplish major infrastructure projects. So even if you have anti-slavery laws, the Empire would just end up like the Republic, without means of enforcement. That’s not even counting for the Hutts, who don’t follow faction laws.”

Vette kinda wants to bang her head against a wall. “I know, I know. It’s a bigger challenge than trying to glow-stick stab Baras.”

“Not impossible though,” Jaesa suggests, “It’s worth considering, at any rate.”

The idea is stuck in her head now, floating around like a particularly stubborn chunk of space rock. It means a lot to her that Jaesa didn’t dismiss the problem. That she took it seriously and took what is means to Vette seriously. “Have I mentioned that I love you and your amazingness?”

“You mentioned it this morning…?”

“Well then I’m mentioning it again.”

Pierce steps into the galley, an empty mug in his hand. “Morning. Caff?”

“Counter,” Vette points to the box while she and Jaesa act casual, as though they hadn’t been discussing dismantling a major Imperial system only seconds ago, “How’s it going?”

He shrugs, “Eh. Have you seen the boss this morning, though? She’s wearing a shirt.”

She grins, “I know! Weird, right?!”

Casual as anything, Jaesa remarks, "Oh, I saw when we were sparring earlier - she's hiding a hickey."

Vette chokes on her caf.

~*~

 _Unexpected complications have arisen that shall require increased security for you. I am doing this to protect you from my own mistakes, not to keep you from the front lines in the war, as I know you shall accuse me of. If Ovech is able to fulfill my requests, then you shall be transferred to a more secure position as soon as possible. This isn’t a permanent reassignment, merely a temporary precaution_.

“This,” Lucian says, putting down the datapad, “is a bunch of rubbish.”

Ille tilts his head up, probably looking at him, but it’s hard to tell with the pure red of Chiss eyes. “You are going to have to elaborate there, Lucy.”

Dragging his finger down the screen, Lucian finds the most offensive part of his brother’s letter and reads it aloud, “And I quote ‘ _an administrative position as Ovech’s aid’_. I’m being transferred! As a secretary!”

“Permanently?”

“No, it’s supposed to just be temporary. For some reason Mal seems to think that whatever mission bullshit he’s going on now will risk my safety. But he doesn’t even say how long that’ll take! I’m safer in a fighter than I am on the ground, even with all this stuff about new ID numbers and false transfer trails.”

Ille shrugs in a way that implies the least possible emotional reaction. “It’s peculiar that your brother is taking high profile missions so soon.”

Everyone is acting suspicious all of a sudden. “What’s that supposed to mean? He’s always off doing dangerous rubbish, has been ever since he started working for Gimrizh - er, don’t get me wrong, I’m not blaming her for anything, I support whatever relationship thing they’ve got going on.”

Those red eyes blink at him, “You didn’t hear? Gimrizh Korribanil was listed as killed in action over a week ago.”

That’s - that can’t be right. “No, okay, that’s wrong.”

“It’s in the official report from Dromund Kaas,” Ille states.

“No, no, listen,” Lucian insists, waving the datapad, “This was sent _yesterday_. Long after Gimrizh _supposedly_ died. It reads like a normal letter, though. Sure, Mal’s obviously worried about something vague and ominous, but if Gimrizh were actually dead it’d read completely differently. I know how my brother reacts to death, and he force-damn loves that Sith - again, don’t tell him I said this. She’s not dead. I have _no idea_ why she’s listed as dead, but I _know_ she’s not.”

“Huh,” Ille says disinterestedly, “Alright.”

Lucian is actually a bit surprised by his easy acceptance, “You believe me?”

“Like you said, you’d be the one to know.”

“Oh - good. Listen, if I do get transferred, I want you to watch my fighter okay? Don’t let any green idiots fly her while I’m gone?”

Ille’s eyelids move in the way that means he’s rolling his eyes, “Yeah, sure. You’re such a space head.”

~*~

Vardri watches as the preparations are made. He’d thought he was done with Belsavis, thought that after his little adventure with the Mother Machine he could put this planet behind him. And he almost had. But circumstance drew him back here even as his battle calls him to the final stage of Corellia. If he wants to project himself as mightier than Darth Thanaton there could be no better trophy than the Dread Masters.

With such power behind him, he could crush not only that most irritating council member, he could also destroy the Republic for good. Pyron and his Silencer are just the first of many weapons Vardri shall have in his pocket.

“Master,” Ashara greets, the small blue figure of her bowing reverently.

Vardri turns away from the base to the holo, “How is the war on Corellia progressing?”

If Thanaton wants to distract himself with a Kaggath between the two of them, then Vardri shall send his crew to do his bidding. Biding time until he himself can swoop in with the full force of the Dread Masters at his back to turn Thanaton to dust.

“Xalek and I are progressing as Pyron instructs. We should have Thanaton’s entire power base here destroyed in a month,” Ashara informs him. “Do you want us to draw him into a fight?”

“No, no.” A month until Thanaton is ready for death. If he includes how long it takes to get from here to Corellia… “I shall free the Dread Masters in a week or two. It shouldn’t be too difficult. I want you to utterly destroy Thanaton while leaving the man alive. I shall return to Corellia in time to kill him with my own two hands.”

His loyal little apprentice quickly agrees, “As you say. Is that all?”

Vardri frowns at the main Imperial base. They’ve been short staffed of late. Not really a bother to him, and normally he would barely care, but if it poses a chance to irritate another most annoying council member, Vardri can hardly resist. “Tell Baras that his little plot here is interfering with my job.”

She looks a bit nervous at that, “But… he’s a member of the Dark Council.”

“I know,” he confirms gleefully, “Send him a message explicitly telling him, and please use these exact words ‘I am busy trying to secure the glory of the Empire. I do not have the patience to deal with the consequences of your petty power grabbing schemes, especially not when you are wasting Imperial resources.’ Feel free to add as many scathing adjectives in there as you want, or send him an unpleasant gift basket with the note - just get the point across.”

“Is it going to pose a problem to your work on Belsavis?” she asks.

Vardri laughs at that, “Of course not. I just don’t like the man. If only he didn’t wear that stupid mask, then I could see the furious expression on his face when he gets my message. And one more thing, Ashara. Ask Pyron how Dolus and Graham are enjoying their new toys. I want to make sure my new allies remember my concern.”

“Yes, master,” she replies, but he can tell she looks a little overwhelmed.

“Have Andronikos handle the rude message, Telos can contact Pyron. You, Xalek, and Khem should focus on grinding the weight of my boots into Thanaton’s neck.”

“I’ll tell them.”

Vardri’s about to close the call before he adds, “And try not to get yourself killed, Ashara. I’ve already lost more apprentices than I’d like, I don’t want that number to swell. It would be such a hassle to replace you.”

No predator is as good at sniffing out blood as Ashara is at sniffing out his praise. “I won’t let you down, master.”

“Then go make Thanton beg for the mercy of my lightsaber piercing his heart.”

~*~

“You,” Gimrizh says, slightly out of breath, “are merciless.”

It’s moments like this when Malavai wishes he could capture what he sees in a holo and treasure it. Gimrizh is completely naked and lying on his chest, the faint sheen of sweat making her skin faintly glow. Normally her hair is tugged away from her face but now it’s mussed up, thin strands stuck to her forehead. He supposes he does have a habit of grabbing it. “Be honest, you’d be disappointed if it were otherwise.”

There’s a lustful edge to her grin, “Oh, that wasn’t a complaint.” She presses her lips to his collarbone, slowly trailing kisses down his chest. “I like you when you’re merciless. When you make me beg.”

The option to make her do so again - to pin her down and wait as she stammers out a plea - is a tempting one. And he just might if she keeps that up. He lightly smacks the back of her thigh, “Don’t. We have to dock at the Belsavis orbital station soon.”

“In a few hours.”

“... In thirty minutes.”

She sits up and waves her hand at the chrono to display the time. “Damn it. And we have to get ready, too.”

And then Belsavis. Another mission, this time for a more shadowed master than he suspects Baras ever was. The Emperor isn’t exactly a public figure and the man’s motives are unclear in every regard. They might not be working for someone actively out to kill her, but Malavai has no doubts that the Hand would turn on Gimrizh just as quickly and as remorselessly as Baras did.

“We still have a little time,” he reminds her, tugging her back into bed. She tucks herself up under his arm and he notices the extra moment she takes to make sure her horns aren’t poking into his skin. “Your horns,” he asks on a whim, “can you feel through them?”

She pushes herself up onto her elbows and looks at him in confusion, “Why do you want to know?”

“Curiosity,” he replies, “If you don’t wish to talk about them, I don’t mind.”

“No.” She reaches for his hand, guiding his fingers towards her horns. “It’s merely that I can’t remember the last time someone touched my horns in a positive way.”

She has five horns, three in the center of her forehead that are small enough to feel like nothing more than sharp bumps under his fingers, the two near her temples large enough for him to actually run his thumb across the horn. The bone is smooth to his touch, as warm as she is, and he can feel the faint beat of a pulse near where the bone meets skin. Under his thumb he can feel slight ridges and dips, like different grains in wood. With a sigh, her eyes flutter closed and she leans into the sensation.

It must not hurt. He had wondered if it was painful, going by how she avoids touching anything or anyone with them, even on accident. “What does that feel like?”

“I can feel the vibrations, the heat of your touch, the pressure,” she says quietly, with the deliberate manner of someone searching for every word to make sure it’s accurate. “It isn’t as defined as skin contact, more… fuzzy. There’s blood vessels and nerves at the base, and that’s where everything is more pronounced.”

He hesitates, his thumb resting against the line where her skin breaks away to reveal bone, “If this is too personal, forgive me, but you said you cannot remember when someone last touched your horns in a positive way. That… implies negative experiences that you do remember.”

The brief flash of panic on her face is enough to make him instantly pull away, dropping both his hands so that he’s not touching her.

“It’s fine,” she insists, and then spends a few moments of silence during which he regrets asking before she continues, “Do you remember when I told you about Yaina?”

Of course he does, he’d thought Gimrizh to be a traitor for a brief period of time afterwards, worrying about her allegiance. Those had been early days. “I doubt I could forget something that had such an impact on you.”

“Oh,” she almost laughs, but it’s tinged with nervousness, “it’s not really about Yaina. The boy I - I killed, Irien. He had a friend, Reus, who hated me with a passion after that. Until I left the Institute, he’d try to kill me on a frequent basis.”

Malavai frowns, “I thought murder between acolytes wasn’t allowed. An accident is understandable, but this must have been an ongoing occurrence. Did no one notice?”

“That rule wasn’t going to stop Reus,” she says. She’s almost embarrassed now, glancing down at a wrinkle in the bed sheets, “He wanted to make me pay, he wasn’t going to let an overseer interfere. But we were teenagers, and stupid, and I think maybe I liked the attention. When you’re trained to tap into every emotion, all the time, hatred can get mistaken for passion. I think I was sixteen when we started sleeping together. It was… a regrettable affair. And he would hurt my horns, during.”

“Did you -? That is, did he -”

“Oh, it wasn’t as though he raped me, I didn’t say no, it wasn’t that.”

Like pieces of a puzzle, he fits another image into the holo of Gimrizh. “This Sith, was he the only other person you’ve had sex with?”

She shakes her head, “There were two overseers.” Then before he has a moment to actually think about that - _overseers_ , and just _what_ do they allow to happen to non-humans on Korriban - she moves on. It’s deliberate, her unwillingness to stay too long on her past, and he lets her avoid it. “I’ve shared, you should return the favor. Now, I know you had a couple girlfriends when you were in medical school -”

Not for the first time, Malavai curses his brother, because Lucian is the _only_ person who could have told her that and might have told her anything from the bare truth to a number of highly inacurate elaborations.

“-but were there any subhumans you’ve been with?” she asks, “Any other Zabraks?”

He sits up a little so that he’s properly facing her, “You’re the first Zabrak I’ve ever so much as worked with, let alone slept with, so no. When I was nineteen, I had a very brief dalliance with a pureblood Sith woman. And a Chiss, when I was twenty-three.”

“Oh, a _Chiss_ ,” she teases, “What was she like?”

“ _He_ ,” Malavai corrects, “was a major, mainly serving on Alderaan. I was three years into my post on Balmorra and it was mostly a power play in an attempt to get off that damn planet.”

During his first five years on Balmorra, he’d been desperate to leave, to go somewhere he could actually make a difference for the Empire. He’d tried so many different avenues, even asking Baras once. Nothing had worked and he’d been blocked by Broysc at every turn. After half a decade of stagnation, Malavai had tried to play a longer game, working his way into Baras’ good graces.

Gimrizh smirks, “If you were trying to seduce your way off Balmorra, I’d say it worked.”

Back when he first met her, he’d been more interested in her efficiency and dedication to the Empire, not how good she looks in synth-leather. “I was _not_ trying to seduce you,” he says, “Not on Balmorra, anyway. And might I remind you, that _you_ were the one who insisted upon wandering around the ship without a shirt.”

“Yes, but I _still_ do that. It’s more practical,” she insists. “Why, is it distracting?”

“Very much so.”

“Good. I’ll keep doing it then.” She sits up and stretches her arms over her head - purposefully showing off her breasts. “Unfortunately we both have to get dressed. I suppose I could _not_ wear a shirt on Belsavis, but I don’t want any insane escaped convicts to try and stab me.”

Malavai gets out of bed and redresses. Her clothes are lying on the floor but he’d been careful to actually put his uniform on a chair. “I think they are likely to try to stab you regardless.”

“Probably,” Gimrizh agrees offhandedly. She starts messing with a datapad while he buttons up his uniform jacket. “Oh hey,” she tosses the datapad across the bed, “You have a new message from Ovech.”

He quickly scans the message and sighs in relief at the end. “It’s good news. I asked Ovech to keep Lucian safe - he’s managed to create a series of fake ID numbers for my brother while reassigning him to what amounts to an aide position. I imagine Lucian will be bored, but he’ll be closer to Ovech and it’s something Baras wouldn’t be expecting. While they’re still fighting in the Balmorra system they should be far enough away from Dromund Kaas to be safe.”

“If Ovech gets promoted to Moff, shouldn’t they be out of Baras’ jurisdiction?”

“Being appointed to Moff takes months at the least. Ovech hasn’t even been named as the final candidate yet.”

Gimrizh looks pensive, “Jaesa sent her parents back to House Thul yesterday, Vette warned Tivva about what we’re doing, and now you’re forced to protect Lucian. Everyone is struggling to cover for my mistakes.”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” he tells her, “This is not your mistake. Baras is… we both know how far his reach extends. You could not have stopped this.”

If either of them are to blame, he deserves her ire far more than she does.

He’s made his decision. Every correspondence he’s had with Baras, every report he sent, every scrap of information that he handed over - it’s all gone. He deleted everything. All that’s left is a copy on a data stick and he intends to destroy that as soon as he can actually bring himself to do so.

“I suppose,” she agrees, even though he can see that thin veneer of guilt remain on her. “This isn’t your fault either. I know you want to protect your brother, but you shouldn’t blame yourself in the process. Lucian’s a good pilot and Ovech is the best ally we have. This will work.”

The odds are in his brother’s favor this time. That’s the best he can do right now. “Thank you for saying so.”

Just as he can tell when she’s reluctant to discuss her past, she can tell when he’s hesitant to talk about their current circumstances. She sighs, “I wonder if we’re here on Belsavis for Darth Ekkage?”

That’s a name he hasn’t heard since the war. “Ekkage? Baras’ sister? What does she have to do with Belsavis?”

“This is the Republic’s premier prison,” Gimrizh explains as she tugs on her boots, “It’s the _only_ major prison that they have to house force sensitives that are more skilled than your average apprentice. It’s… When I was on trial, General Garza mentioned that I wouldn’t likely be given a prison sentence because the Republic would be hesitant to imprison me close to my master’s sister. Since Belsavis is the only prison that I would have been sent too, it means that Ekkage is alive and she’s on the planet below.”

If Ekkage is alive, Baras would certainly be trying to break her out of prison. During the war, Ekkage was a powerful saboteur until her defeat and then her presumed death. That sort of person would be invaluable to Baras right now. “That’s reasonable. Why would General Garza reveal that information?”

“She only told _me_ ,” she clarifies.

The unspoken half of that sentence - that Garza thought Gimrizh would shortly die and saw no security risk in telling a dead woman - lies heavy in the air.

Gimrizh breaks the silence when she puts her hands on her hips and frowns at the room, “Where did I put my belt?”

“ _I_ left it on your dresser, where it belongs, as opposed to leaving it on the floor.”

“Oh. Thanks.”

~*~

Belsavis is oddly beautiful. The planet has a series of microclimates, resulting in a clash of temperatures and suddenly shifting flora. From the shuttle ride in, Gimrizh could see snow covered icy valleys next to lush forests with massive trees too heavy to support their own weight. Underneath that beauty is apparently a mess of partially excavated Rakata ruins and insane thermal features. The official information on Belsavis is limited, but there are supposedly massive caves filled with sulfuric gases underneath the planet’s surface. That’s where the worst of the prisoners are kept and where the Empire hasn’t yet been able to get to.

Getting a shuttle to take five people who refuse to provide identification to the surface of a restricted prison planet had not been as difficult as she had imagined. Vette had picked out one of the shuttles, handed over a stack of credits, and they were on their way.

“For a place so far in the outer rim, the Imperial base here is massive,” she comments to Malavai as they head through the halls of the command center.

“It has to be,” he reminds her, “It’s imperative we take this planet from the Republic.”

She wonders what would have happened to her if the Republic _had_ imprisoned her in this place. A life sentence here is such an expanse of time that she can barely comprehend it. To be trapped in a cell, or more likely a statis field, for year after year, without an end in sight, desperately holding out hope for anyone to come for her. That could have been her fate. If not for Garza’s interference. If not for Malavai.

Once they approach the office section of the command base, they’re greeted by an ensign. “Excuse me,” the woman says, holding out a hand to stop them, “You can’t go in there. Colonel Trill is quite busy.”

Gimrizh just gives the woman a look, “As am I. And my business is far more important than the Colonel’s.”

Unwilling to get involved with a Sith, the ensign gives up, “Fine. I don’t care. I’m not paid enough to deal with Sith.”

“Dealing with Sith, as you put it,” Malavai replies sharply, frowning at the ensign, “ _is_ part of your job. And it is an honor, one apparently lost on you.”

Why does she find that so touching? The ensign’s desire to stay out of things doesn’t bother her, and she still thinks it’s sweet that Malavai rises to her defense like that. Stars, she’s _hopeless_.

The colonel’s office door opens and Gimrizh’s blood instantly boils with a low undercurrent of frustration, annoyance, and sheer spite.

“Well,” Vardri says in that slimy voice of his, grinning like a spider would when faced with a neatly giftwrapped fly. “If it isn’t my _dear_ old friend. And here I heard you were dead. Such a pity that you’re not. I was _really_ hoping that I wouldn’t have to deal with your specific brand of _boring_ anymore.”

That son of a bitch. Of all the people she does not want to deal with, he’s second only to Baras himself. “Vardri. This planet suits you. I heard this place does an excellent job containing the criminally insane.”

“Oh you’re _touchy_ today. What’s the matter, did faking your own death kill your sense of humor?”

“I didn’t fake my death and if you paid the slightest attention to anything beyond your own posturing you might have figured that out.”

Ever so slightly, Malavai takes a step forward, glaring at Vardri as though the Twi’lek is something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “My lord, there’s no need to deal with this. Your rank gives you jurisdiction here. A mere upstart lord isn’t on your radar.”

He’s right. Vardri is a nuisance and a headache and she sincerely wants to punch him in the face, however, she technically has the authority of the Emperor backing her. Vardri might be making a splash, but she’s already above him. She can contain her anger for the moment and unleash it later, when there’s actually a reason to. “True. I’ll speak to Colonel Trill directly, then. Good day, Kallig.”

The slight twitch at the corner of Vardri’s mouth lasts a second but she notices it and practically simmers with success at having irritated him.

“Oh,” he says, drawing out the word tauntingly, “You got _promoted_ ? Why oh _why_ did I not hear about this?”

She makes a solid effort to look down on him, trickier than it looks given that he’s taller than she is. “It’s above your clearance to know.”

“No, it’s not,” Vardri laughs, a vicious, cutting sound. “Let me tell you what _I_ think - you haven’t been promoted. You’re hiding from the Empire and from the Sith Order, aren’t you? That’s why you don’t have an appointment with the colonel and that’s why I didn’t hear about it when you arrived on this planet. What happened, did it make your silly little hearts _afraid_ when Baras tried to dispose of you like the trash you are?”

It looks like Malavai almost goes for his blaster, “If you imply that Lord Gimrizh is a liar once more, I won’t regret shooting you, even if you are a Sith Lord.”

“Try it!” Vardri dares, “I’ll gut you.”

On second thought.

She’s going to punch his smug grin off his face if it’s the last thing she does. Her hands go to her lightsabers and she’s one twitch of a muscle away from leaping at Vardri when a neatly uniformed woman interrupts them.

“Pardon me,” Colonel Trill says in a very no-nonsense voice, “But is there something I can help you with?”

“Do excuse the riff-raff, they were just leaving,” Vardri sneers.

Gimrizh steps up, looks the colonel over, and then offers her hand, “ It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance and I apologize for the less than fortunate first introduction. Lord Kallig has never been a fan of mine. I regret that our argument interrupted you and drew you from your work, and I would ask for only a moment of your time, in order to discuss a most urgent matter.”

She can see Malavai smirk out of the corner of her eye. If Vardri wants to act like a child, then she’ll take the high road.

Trill shakes her hand, “Good to meet you. What can I do for you, my lord?”

“She’s here to be a little spy, isn’t she?” Vardri interjects, casually leaning against the wall, “I can think of a number of more shady Imperials that want to get their hands on the Dread Masters.”

That made absolutely no sense. “I’m not here for the Dread Masters.”

For the first time she thinks Vardri’s actually surprised. “Really? Huh.”

“Colonel,” Gimrizh says, trying very very hard to ignore the other Sith, “If we may speak in private?”

Trill nods and ushers them into her office, “Yes, of course. Lord Kallig, I shall discuss the expedition with you later.”

There’s a flash of hot anger souring Vardri’s expression that Gimrizh glimpses before the door shuts in his face.

“I apologize for the accusations Lord Kallig made,” Trill says. She holds out her hand to Malavai, “And you are?”

“I’m Captain Malavai Quinn, I serve Lord Gimrizh Korribanil.”

“Pleasure to meet you as well then. I hope I can help the both of you, but I’m afraid that a number of Imperial personnel are spread between Lord Melicoste’s mission and Lord Kallig’s expedition to free the Dread Masters. If you need back up, we won’t be able to provide many soldiers.”

They won’t need back up. Gimrizh waves off the suggestion, “There won’t be a need for that. I just need information.”

Trill sits down at her desk and moves a datapad out of the way, “How can I assist you then?”

“I seek information about a mission to break out Darth Ekkage and her assassins,” she informs the colonel, an almost word for word repetition of what the Hand told her.

“Yes, that’s Lord Melicoste’s mission,” Trill confirms, “He and his team have been permitted to venture deep into the Belsavis prison. The order came directly from Darth Baras and you don’t have the clearance to know more.” She folds he hands neatly on her desk and fixes the both of them with a firm stare. “Now, I have a few questions of my own. If you’re intending to infiltrate the prison, then you should have picked a better disguise. Lord Gimrizh Korribanil was found dead on Quesh over a week ago. Who are you _really_?”

That’s new. She’s never been accused of impersonating herself before. “I assure you, I am exactly who I say I am.”

“Then why are you listed as KIA?”

Gimrizh looks at Malavai, trying not to make her nervousness too obvious, “Can we trust her?”

“No,” he says hesitantly, “but she’s the only lead we have. And she is only trying to do her job. It’s your decision, my lord.”

Alright. She doesn’t want to be forced to silence Trill but she does need the woman’s help if she’s to complete the Hand’s task. “Over a week ago my former master, Baras, tried to have me killed out of paranoia. I promise that he had no good reason apart from his own ambitions. After I survived, I was promoted to the position of Emperor’s Wrath. Believe me or not, but I have the authority of the Emperor himself behind me and am acting at his command. Baras is looking out for himself alone. I’m here to aid the Empire.”

Trill remains stone faced and expressionless, but her shoulders sag as she realizes the implications. “I see.”

“Do you?”

“As much as a non-Sith can, I believe.”

“Good. Then you should understand why I need to know where Melicoste is and what his plans are.”

“And if I were to say…” Trill says slowly, testing them, “report this to Darth Baras as I am ordered, what would you do? If I did not believe your story and decided to gain evidence beyond just your word?”

The Hand would tell Gimrizh to kill the colonel, but she doubts that she would. She doesn’t want to shed Imperial blood without good cause and unlike Melicoste, who is completely aware of Baras’ actions and motivations, this woman is mostly in the dark. Just following orders, as Gimrizh did when she was Baras’ apprentice. “That would be regrettable, but I would not reprimand you. The choice is yours.”

“The last Wrath was a boogeyman, a pureblood hiding and striking from the shadows,” Trill comments. “I think it’ll do the Empire good to have a Zabrak as the new Wrath.”

She flinches, “I’m not a promotion or a charity case.”

“And I’m no activist,” the colonel counters, “I’m just making an observation. Lord Melicoste invaded the prison this morning with a squad of commandos. He’s placed them throughout this level of the prison to cover his descent and to secure the area for his exit. We don’t know exactly where he’s headed, but Lieutenant Kaid, the leader of his commandos, might. The problem there is that Kaid’s men stationed in this sector will report any activity. If you are unwelcome, they’ll warn him and Melicoste.”

That comes as a bit of a surprise. Not the information itself, but Trill’s willingness to share it at all.

“Can this information be trusted?” Malavai asks. He’s still regarding Trill with suspicion, fair enough after her less than subtle threat to rat them out to Baras. “You could, after all, inform Lord Melicoste of our intentions yourself and send us into a trap.”

Trill considers it, and then nods, “Very true. I could do that. I won’t however.”

He isn’t convinced, “Why should we take your word on that? This is a rather drastic turnaround from your earlier accusations.”

“Why should I take your word that Korribanil is the new Wrath?” Trill counters.

Malavai concedes the point, “An impasse, then.”

“We’ll trust you,” Gimrizh decides. They have little to lose and much to gain. Besides, if the colonel has been working with Vardri, then she’ll have an inflated view of the likelihood of a Sith killing her for betrayal. While Gimrizh honestly wouldn’t in this circumstance, she has no computations about playing off Vardri’s bloodthirsty tendencies. “And in return, will you keep our presence here a secret from Darth Baras?”

“I won’t inform him until after you’ve left,” Trill compromises, clearly not leaving that matter up for further discussion. Which is fair, actually, given that she does have orders to inform Baras of their interference. “And in return, to assure me of your good will towards the Empire, I’d like you to assist Lord Kallig in his expedition.”

She’s not sure if she hates this woman or admires her guts. “Fine.”

“Then do as you will with the information. I have one last warning, however. If you’re intent on warring with Melicoste, I’ll stay out of it. But I cannot and will not sit idly by as Imperials are slaughtered,” Trill adds with unshakable certainty.

“Neither can we,” Malavai assures her, “We’re here to secure the future of the Empire, not kill its citizens.”

Trill sighs and then presses a button on her terminal. A small holo of the planet’s surface appears, quickly focusing in on an area not too far from the command base. “Kaid should be here,” she tells them, pointing to a location in the minimum security zone, close to carbonite prisoner storage. “I’d wish you luck, but…”

Gimrizh quickly memorizes the map, “I understand. Thank you for your assistance.”

They are quietly ushered out of Trill’s office and Gimrizh takes a moment to make sure she can’t sense Vardri nearby before they depart to rendezvous with the rest of the crew.

“I can’t _believe_ I agreed to help Vardri,” she complains, looking up at the ceiling and hoping that it holds the answers she’s looking for. “What was I thinking?”

“You were thinking that the probability of the colonel continuing to assist us if you declined was high enough not to risk it,” Malavai points out. There aren’t any officers nearby, but the two of them step into a more secluded corner anyway, to avoid someone overhearing their conversation, “We couldn’t have afforded any more of her suspicion. Kallig is detestable, true, but your decision was the correct one.”

It was the right choice. That doesn’t make her any less irritated though. “I know, unfortunately. I need to track down this Lieutenant Kaid first and then once I have a new lead, I can return and assist Vardri.”

A pensive frown mars his face, “I don’t think that’s the best option, my lord. Although I hate to say it, it would make more sense for me, Jaesa, and Lieutenant Pierce to remain behind and assist Kallig, whilst you and Vette pursue our primary goal. You and Jaesa can communicate via the force, which might prove necessary should holo communication not be available.”

“Yes…” She does see the logic in that. “Although why would you not accompany me? I’m not offended, I just thought that… well, it hardly matters.”

“I have doubts as to whether or not I could do my job effectively,” he admits, “I told you from the start that a relationship between us might be compromising during a mission.”

That he did, and she finds it difficult to argue that point. The Sith code emphasizes the strength that passions can bring and she feels as though she would be stronger with him by her side. Only Malavai isn’t Sith. She isn’t going to force him to follow her own ideology if he disagrees and she understands the desire to keep a calm head in a fight. Even though it is a slightly more light side approach, it does work for Jaesa and it’s something that she herself has used on occasion.

She gives in, “Alright. If you think it best. It’ll be nice to work alongside Vette again - I presume you sent her with me in order to split up her and Jaesa?”

“Exactly.” He clears his throat and then adds, “Also I am reluctant to entrust your safety to Lieutenant Pierce after the disaster on Quesh. Vette is far more visibly loyal to you and frankly she has a better track record.”

What happened on Quesh wasn’t Pierce’s fault, “ _I_ threw Pierce out and I do wish you’d try and get along with him. He’s not a bad man.”

Malavai sighs before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, “I shall try, since it means so much to you.”

“Thank you.” Then she grins, tugging him down, “And what sort of goodbye kiss was that?”

~*~

Thick layers of snow cover the entrance to the vaults, a light storm kicking up. Given how erratic the weather on Belsavis is, Thutrel would not be surprised if they could outrun the storm on foot, escaping it by crossing less than a handful kilometers of land. He and Scourge are perched on the overlook, above the partially crumbled pathway into the secure vaults below.

“Doctor Gantrell should be down there, in Vault S-31,” Thutrel reminds them, the words for himself more than his companion. “In truth, I sense a trap. Can you sense the same?”

Scourge isn’t even facing the vaults anymore, standing up straight and occupied with something far in the distance, “Someone else is on this planet. I sense a presence in the force that I did not think I would encounter again, not after I relinquished my position as Emperor’s Wrath.”

“Is it the Emperor?” Thutrel asks.

The Sith shakes his head, “A lesser version of Vitiate’s influence. His Hand. Servant One and Servant Two - they act as taskmasters for the Emperor, remaining in the shadows, secretive and mysterious. They are not physically present on this planet, nor would they be given Vitiate’s genocidal goals for this place.”

“Then…” He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves, “If they are not here, what is it that you sense?”

“Their shadow. A shade of their will lingering on someone here,” Scourge elaborates.

An agent of the Emperor could be a grave interference on their mission. Thutrel is already concerned about Krannus’ role here, another Imperial enforcer might be too much for him to handle. “Who is it?”

There’s no change in Scourge’s expression as he remarks, “Strange. I do not know them. I thought myself acquainted with most of Vitiate’s pawns but this is someone new.”

“Do they know we are here, and why?”

“If they do, I can sense little to no malice directed at us. The force does not warn me against them.”

“I’m not sensing danger either, at least, not from an outsider.”

“I shall keep tabs on this new interloper, regardless. I do not believe that the Hand would send a stranger here without negative intent.”

~*~

“Stop shooting at us!” Vette yells as she angrily shoots the last guard.

Gimrizh pulls her lightsaber out of some poor dude’s chest cavity, flicking off the blade and giving her a scathing look, “I do hope you are aware of the irony in your statement.”

That’s the last of the resistance here. They’re in some high security section, near the prison maintenance facilities. Something to do with records, Vette hadn’t been paying the closest attention when Gimrizh interrogated Lieutenant Kaid. It wasn’t really interrogation, more like Gimrizh calmly and scarily speaking to him and explaining his options in the most rational manner possible until the man told them everything. At least she hadn’t taken a page out of Baras’ book and started shooting lightning everywhere.

“Yeah,” she replies, twirling her blasters before holstering them, “Irony - it’s like goldy and bronzey, only made of iron.”

“Why did I miss spending time with you?” Gimrizh asks rhetorically.

Vette grins, “I like to think it’s because of my charming personality. Or my incredible skill with a blaster.”

“Speaking of blasters,” Gimrizh runs her hand across scorch marks that have sealed the massive durasteel door shut, “This wasn’t done with a lightsaber. Imperial soldiers, mostly likely. I wonder why they would seal the records room.”

Not a clue. She shrugs and knocks on the door.

“Hello out there,” someone calls out from inside.

She leaps fifty feet upwards and can physically feel her heart fucking accelerate into hyperspace right out of her chest. “Holy fucking hells! What the - who’s there? I warn you, I’m a Twi’lek and I’m armed!”

The voice - it’s a man, she can tell now - answers, “I’m Jedi Master Somminick Timms. A word, please.”

“This is not your day, Jedi,” Gimrizh drawls, leaning against the door, “I am Sith, and you stand between me and my goal. That’s a precarious position for anyone to be in, let alone a Jedi.”

“I can sense your presence and nature. I even know who you are,” Timms tells them, and if that isn’t the creepiest damn thing. “Many years past, I was a padawan of Master Nomen Karr. He and I forged a bond through the force. I know about your confrontation with him and what you did to him.”

Vette blinks, “Wow. Small galaxy, huh?”

The look Gimrizh gives her is both probably intended to make her shut up, and also thoroughly ignored.

“Ever since you defeated Nomen Karr and took Jaesa Willsaam,” he continues, “The Jedi Council has been keeping track of you. We had heard you were dead, but now I presume that means you and your master, Darth Baras, are no longer aligned. Are you here for Darth Ekkage, as I am?”

“Really, _really_ small galaxy,” Vette adds, only slightly joking and more than a little bit weirded out.

Gimrizh glares at her before calling back, “Though Baras may be my enemy, I am still Sith. Do you expect us to be allies simply because my former master is the scum of the galaxy?”

“I expect nothing less,” Timms replies. “But your arrival here tells me something. It’s a dead end, Sith. To follow Lord Melicoste you need information from the computers in this room, but as you can see, the door is sealed. I came for the same reason, and I got the information, but Lord Melicoste’s commandos trapped me in here.”

She smirks, “Outmatched by mere commandos. Not your proudest day.”

“Oh I don’t know. There were quite a lot of them and I held my own. Now,” he suggests, “I can’t get out on my own, but our combined strength, striking the door from both sides simultaneously, could break the seal.”

Can’t say that’s not a good idea. “If I do this,” Gimrizh says carefully, like she really wants to bang her head against the wall but doesn’t happen to have a wall conveniently nearby, “then you’ll give me the information that I need?”

“You have my word,” the Jedi promises. “On the count of three?”

Vette scrambles backwards as Gimrizh raises her hands and starts to do force mumbo-jumbo to the door. She’s seen the results of giant force explosions before and doesn’t really want to be standing too close by when everything goes down. The two force-users count off and then there’s the high pitched, ear-splitting sound of metal being ripped apart.

The door sort of gets crushed, like a fighter flew head first into it.

When the dust clears, it reveals a older man, a Mirialan with heavy bags under his eyes. Poor dude’s seen better days. Though with the war going on, who hasn’t? “Well done,” he says, “Now before you kill me, I suggest you inspect the computer banks in here.”

Gimrizh storms inside, Vette hot on her heels.  
The computer banks are completely trashed. Old lightsaber marks crisscross the durasteel.

“You son of a-” Gimrizh almost goes for her lightsaber and then calms herself, “I see. You are trying to preserve your own life. Fine. I can sympathize. What’s your play?”

He gestures to the ruined databanks, “I did _this_ to make sure that no one else sent by Darth Baras could succeed. It was my first action after being trapped here. And now you and I are going to stop Lord Melicoste. I’m the only one who knows where Darth Ekkage’s cell is located and although our motives vary, our goal is the same. I’m suggesting a partnership.”

That’s unexpectedly sneaky for a Jedi. “I’m impressed,” Vette admits, “But, uh, I get the feeling there isn’t gonna be a big alliance celebration, is there?”

“No,” Gimrizh says bitterly, “Very well, Jedi. A partnership it is. Where are we going?”

“All I’ll tell you for now is that we’re headed for Deep Prison. The exact location of Darth Ekkage’s cell remains my secret,” Timms explains, “In good faith, I’ll point you to her assassins. You can make sure they remain locked up while I gain access to the Deep Prison. You might get the assassins to back down without a fight. Me? Not so much.” He pulls a scrap of flimsy out of his pocket and produces a light pen, scribbling down a series of numbers, “Here are the coordinates.”

Vette grabs the scrap of paper before Gimrizh can, “So, you knew Jaesa back in her Jedi days?”

“I am not doing this,” Gimrizh declares with a touch of melodrama before storming off out of the records room. “If the two of you want to chat it up, I’ll be waiting by the exit - doing my _job_ and making sure to discourage any Republic soldiers from entering.”

Timms doesn’t seem too bothered by her absence, “Yes, I knew Jaesa Willsaam. Why do you ask?”

“I’m dating her!” Vette proudly declares, “She’s on our crew and she’s doing some really good work you know, and I don’t think she regrets joining the Sith, even though I obviously don’t speak for her. Er - I mean - you’re a Jedi, so I can’t really say a whole lot about _what_ she’s doing, but she’s working through some stuff. Trying to help herself.”

There’s a wistful smile on his face as he replies, “She always strove for self-improvement. She used to say that she always believed in people’s capacity for change. I’m surprised she managed to keep part of herself, even now that she’s fallen so far. I was truly saddened to hear that she’d become Sith.”

Yikes. “Okay listen, please stop acting like there’s just ‘the light side’ and ‘evil’ okay?” Vette insists, leaping to Jaesa’s defense. “Jaesa can be a perfectly good and wonderful person and still be a Sith. So please take your ‘fallen so far’ bullshit right out of here. Jaesa’s ability to improve herself and work towards meaningful change hasn’t somehow vanished as soon as she became Sith! She’s still herself, she’s just working on the other side of the equation - and for that matter - !”

“Woah there.” Timms holds up his hands and steps back, “I didn’t mean to be rude. It was just an observation - you must admit that the Sith are more depraved than most Jedi.”

“Yeah? Well I’m done with your observations, if all they’re going to be is how you’re biased against Jaesa because she’s not all perfect light side purity - all that _bullshit_ anymore! I thought ‘oh he’s a Jedi, play nice’ but now I am agreeing with Gimrizh on this one.” She turns on her heels and stomps towards the exit with as much moral righteousness as she can muster, “Good luck with your half of the mission.”

~*~

“Where’s Jenth Squad?” Vardri demands, stalking into the command base like an overgrown shyrack. He throws his snow covered cloak at an ensign and sinks down into a chair across from Colonel Trill, “They should have reported back while I was gone, why do I not see them here?”

Malavai utterly despises that Sith. “You know perfectly well where Jenth Squad is,” he snaps. “They reached the Dread Master’s prison, and never returned or answered their comms. Which is precisely what happened to the other two squads before them.”

While Vardri runs around the planet accomplishing who knows what, as he refuses to share information with them, squads of soldiers are likely dying on this foolish venture. It isn’t productive and it’s wasting valuable lives. Whatever is down there in Deep Prison isn’t something that common squads are equipped to deal with. Sending down another team is a foolish and wasteful venture.

Vardri huffs, “What worthless soldiers you have here, Trill.”

Either the improper use of her first name or the infuriating suggestion causes Trill to glare at the Sith, “I am not lucky enough to have unlimited resources here, my lord. We are hard pressed enough by the Republic as it is. As much as I know you would appreciate my reassigning more men to your mission, we simply do not have the manpower to spare. If I pull more people in from the front lines, then we risk being removed from Belsavis all together. Not even you, Lord Kallig, can free the Dread Masters without a single soldier to back you up.”

“Fortunately for your soldiers,” Vardri sneers, “I’ve been running across Belsavis making preparations for our descent into Deep Prison.”

In Malavai’s book, that’s still not a good enough reason to disappear for days and send squads off to die. Vardri doesn’t seem capable of making calculated decisions like that. “And here we thought you were just wasting our time and resources.”

Vardri glares at him, “Have you ever been electrocuted?”

“If you are idiotic enough to try it,” he states, “Lord Gimrizh will give you a swift death.”

“Good, I’ve been looking for an excuse to fight that annoying, simpering girl. Do you think she’d scream if -”

Trill jumps to her feet and slams her hands down on the table before Vardri says something that he can’t take back. “Lord Kallig! Please return to the task at hand. If you have been making preparations for the mission, then I hope you are ready to enter Deep Prison yourself and complete the operation.”

“Yes,” Vardri replies, looking down on the colonel, “There isn’t a moment to delay. Have three squads ready to move out and I’ll take the lead. As soon as you are ready, we’ll break out the Dread Masters.”

“Then good luck, Lord Kallig,” Trill says, “I shall coordinate from here and assemble the soldiers.”

Vardri pauses on his way out, a smirk on his face as he quietly tells Malavai, “Oh that reminds me. Tell Willsaam that if she ever digs around in my head again, it will be the last time she has a head.”

And then the Sith is gone, slamming the door behind him. Good riddance.

“I… apologize,” Malavai says slowly, and insincerely.

Trill waves her hand dismissively, “Don't, captain. That Sith has been a thorn in my side since the day he got here. I treat him respectfully and do as he asks because it is my duty to serve the Sith in any way possible, not because I find the man’s company enjoyable. That said, I would recommend that you stop antagonizing him. He’s as loyal to the Empire as we are, in his own way.”

If that were true, Malavai would not hate him. “I worked with Lord Kallig once before. During that mission, he left Lord Gimrizh to die. She was alive, but injured, and he not only didn’t aid her in any way he also failed to inform anyone of her continued survival. Kallig’s loyalty to the Empire and to the Sith is questionable. His loyalty is primarily to himself.”

“Lord Korribanil was put on trial by the Republic some time ago, wasn’t she?” Trill asks, “It was quite the boost to morale when she was recovered.”

“Yes, she was.”

“And I’ll assume that if Kallig abandoned her, she was picked up by the Republic.”

“Correct.”

Trill sighs. She sits back down and sinks into her chair, “I don’t like those that leave their comrades behind. They’re the worst sort of trash if you ask me. But it’s not my place to question what a Sith Lord does.”

“Of course not. Colonel, please excuse me.”

“Dismissed.”

Malavai leaves her office, infinitely glad that Vardri is nowhere in sight. Even though he holds the Sith Order in the highest esteem, he can’t help but despise Vardri. The man’s methods are sloppy, inefficient, and wasteful, and he has no respect or concern for anyone besides himself. Vardri’s record might be spotless at first glance, but it’s likely because he’ll throw an ally under the speeder to save himself.

That’s not even considering the warning the Sith gave Jaesa. Malavai is actually planning on passing that message along because Jaesa just might do it and there is no doubt in his mind that Vardri would and could kill her for such an act. If the Sith did, Gimrizh would kill him for it, but Jaesa would still be dead.

When he turns the corner, Pierce is leaning against the wall, waiting for him.

“Lieutenant?” Malavai asks, sincerely hoping this is just a coincidence, “Is there a reason you’re lurking here?”

Pierce’s face is as expressionless as stone, “Wanted to talk to you. Not here.”

“Is this confidential?”

“No. Just figured you’d want to keep this quiet.”

Is this just dramatics or something serious? “Very well,” Malavai reluctantly agrees, glancing around to find an empty office that they can use. “This way.”

As soon as he shuts the office door behind them and the outside sound fades, Pierce rudely shoves a datapad into his face. It’s blank, just an error message about deleted data. Something thoroughly unimportant.

“Know what this is?” Pierce obviously knows that Malavai hasn’t a clue, he’s just trying to start an argument.

Malavai pushes the datapad out of the way. He has had a long day, and had to deal with Vardri far more than he would have prefered to, an experience that would grate on anyone’s nerves. He had thought, apparently incorrectly, that Pierce was professional enough to refrain from being this confrontational during a mission. Later, on _Horizon_ , fine, but right now he has more important things to do than put up with this. “No I don’t. If you’re just here to waste my time, then I’ll ask you to leave.”

“Nah,” Pierce says with the utmost confidence, “You’re going to want to hear about this.”

What could possibly be this important? “Then get on with it.”

Of course, now the lieutenant decides to take his time, “See, I always thought there was something up with you. Didn’t have any proof though. And I knew that Lord Gimrizh wouldn’t listen unless I had evidence. So I went through your things. Found this-” He holds up the datapad and Malavai’s heart skips a beat out of panic. “Your personal log. Whole thing was locked - which I broke - and then encoded. Which I was working on until the whole thing suddenly updated and then vanished. Coincidentally right after we left Quesh. Got something to hide?”

How the hell did Pierce get his hands on Malavai’s logs? And how the hell did he bypass the encryption? “Stealing information from a superior officer is grounds for a court martial, lieutenant,” he warns.

“Don’t care.” Pierce crosses his arms and stares him down, “Try it, and I bring this straight to Gimrizh.”

If she finds out what he’s done - what he refuses to do anymore - she’d hate him. She’d condemn him for it. And such a betrayal would tear her up. She already struggles with placing her trust in people and he knows that her loyalty, once given, is absolute and all encompassing. He knows what breaching her trust would do to her. He can’t bear the thought of hurting her like that. He _refuses_ to have his actions hurt her again. “Bring what to her? A blank datapad? You had no business going through my logs to begin with -”

“Cut the crap. Why the hell did you delete this right after Baras stabbed her in the back?” Pierce demands, “That’s not just suspicious, that’s damn incriminating.”

“It was a prescheduled data wipe,” Malavai lies, “Hardly a crime.”

Pierce doesn’t buy that for a second, “Sure. You just happened to delete everything after Baras tries to off Gimrizh. The two events were _completely_ unrelated.” He scoffs, “I don’t believe it. And I don’t think Lord Gimrizh will either.”

“You think she’s going to believe this… conspiracy theory?” Malavai asks, trying not to let his panic show.

The lieutenant leans in and says viciously, “See here’s the thing - I know I’m right. I know that there is evidence against you. Maybe it’s just not someplace I can find. I think she’s going to listen. And I think that she’s going to find out for me.”

If he could get away with it, he’d punch the lieutenant. “What exactly is your goal here?”

“You’re hiding something big, and whatever it is, Lord Gimrizh is going to get dragged down with it,” Pierce states. “She’s a decent sort and you don’t deserve her.”

“I _don’t_ deserve her,” Malavai admits. He doesn’t know why someone like her would stoop to care for someone like him, and he can recognize the disparity between them. “But let me make this _perfectly_ clear - whatever you think of my loyalties, regardless of the secrets you _think_ I’m hiding, I would die for Lord Gimrizh.”

Pierce raises an eyebrow, “Huh.”

Then he drops the datapad on the ground and leaves, slamming the door behind him.

Malavai cannot bring himself to pick up the datapad. Luck, or the will of the force, has allowed him to keep his secrets, if only for a short while longer. As long as Pierce doesn’t have any actual data then Lord Gimrizh is safe.

The knowledge that she’d trust him over any accusations Pierce brings before her burns away at him. If he wanted to, if he’s heartless enough to do it, he could twist her affection for him into a shield and use it to hide everything he’s done, take her love and warp into something more closely resembling devotion. He could. He’ll _never_. He is devoted to her and it will never be the other way around. This small safety from the lieutenant is closer to that scenario than he can stand.

He can’t let this hurt her and he won’t try to manipulate her either and he can’t see a way out beyond those two unacceptable options. There’s just a faint hope that she’ll dismiss Pierce’s claims outright, that his suspicions won’t cause her pain.

Malavai is perfectly fine with paying for what he’s done, he just doesn’t want it to be at Gimrizh’s expense.

~*~

The descent into Ekkage’s cell in Deep Prison is a suffocating one. Even though the Jedi, Timms, assures Gimrizh that they are on the furthest outskirts of Deep Prison, the shallow cells dug only a mile into the earth, the heavy sulfuric air still threatens to choke her.

At first she’d thought they were too late but Ekkage is… perhaps not as sane as she was when the Republic locked her away.

“I will tell your master,” Ekkage whispers, as the curls of lightning fade from Melicoste’s body, “my brother, the future Voice of the Emperor, that you died like a dog.”

Vette rolls her eyes at that, even as the slight tint of fear slips its way onto Timms’ perfect Jedi mask of a face.

“Well done.” Gimrizh steps out from behind the pillar, clapping slowly at the sight. The sound reverberates throughout the chamber, echoing off the massive stone walls and only slightly dampened by the thin vein of molten rock that trickles beyond Ekkage’s cell. “A virtuoso performance. Thank you ever so much for taking care of Melicoste for me, it certainly makes my job easier.”

Ekkage just seems amused, “Wait until you see the encore. Now, who exactly are you?”

She gives a shallow, sarcastic bow, not deep enough to take her eyes off her enemy, “I’m your brother’s executioner. Whether or not you join him is entirely up to you. I’m not in the habit of killing my fellow Sith unless necessity demands it.”

The woman laughs, “How hypocritical! Don’t think I can’t sense that sad little whelp of Nomen Karr’s hiding with you - he’s not trying nearly so hard to conceal himself anymore. That’s it,” she says as Timms steps out to join them, “come on out. Any Sith aligned with a Jedi is a fool and traitor.”

“The question you should be asking yourself is this,” Gimrizh retorts, “What have you done to cause both Sith and Jedi to stand against you?”

“Only what I must,” Ekkage’s voice becomes braggadocious as she declares, “Baras shall be declared Voice of the Emperor, and then he and I can dominate the Empire. I’m not going to miss that. I just destroyed a Sith Lord with a flick of my wrist. Don’t blink - I’m about to do it again!”

“We fight together!” Timms declares, rushing forward.

He snaps his blade to life and blocks the first bright shocks of lightning. It’s strong enough to send him skidding backwards. He holds his ground though. When possessed of an unbroken mind and physical strength that hasn’t been wallowing in prison for over a decade, Ekkage must have been powerful.

But now she is old, and weak, and unarmed. And Melicoste had been caught off guard.

There’s a flash of red and blue, Gimrizh kicking off from the ground and throwing herself at Ekkage, her vision narrowing until all she sees is where to strike.

Her blades spin a hot line across Ekkage’s torso, long enough to hurt, not deep enough to kill.

Lightning bursts across the room, crackling around empty air. Gimrizh has already moved again, dropping to the ground and sliding behind Ekkage, cutting behind her knees.

To the woman’s credit, Ekkage doesn’t scream, she just grinds her teeth through the pain as she falls to the ground.

Gimrizh stands over her, crossing her blades across her throat. “That was about two seconds,” she remarks, “Did you blink?”

“Have my powers waned as I languished here?” Ekkage mutters to herself, her eyes unfocused, staring blankly at the ceiling. “Baras shall kill you for this. He will not tolerate someone like you laying a hand on his sister. If you kill me, he shall finish the job I started.”

Baras will try. Only he’ll be doing it to save his own skin, killing Gimrizh out of his own pride, because he wants her tied up and out of the way. Not to avenge Ekkage. “How long have you been down here? Over a decade? Baras never lifted so much as a finger to help you until he needed your help. Family is not his priority.”

“Sith value family,” Ekkage bites out, “I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

Gimrizh pities her. So long spent in a stasis field would make anyone insane, an unimaginable time spent trapped in limbo. Never moving, surroundings never changing. Not even the force to tie her mind to reality. “Then where is your dear brother?”

“Now,” Timms says cautiously, holding out a hand, “before you get any creative ideas, my friend, help me reseal Darth Ekkage in her cell.”

Another who knows how many years trapped here, or a swift but painfully final death? Gimrizh would choose the cell in a second. Ekkage might not. The decision is not one she can or will make for someone else. “You have two choices,” she tells the woman, “I either kill you here, as painlessly as I can, or you go back to your cell. It’s up to you. I don’t want to decide for you and you already know what the Jedi thinks.”

“You will not get away with this,” Ekkage warns, the desperation beginning to seep into her eyes.

Gimrizh presses her lightsabers just the smallest bit closer to her skin. Not close enough to burn, only a reminder. “This is the only choice you get. I’m letting you choose - How many opponents would do the same?”

After a moment when she thinks that she won’t get an answer at all, Ekkage finally mutters, “I choose imprisonment. At least then I have a chance of escaping and killing you.”

“Done,” she agrees. She turns her red lightsaber off and uses the hilt to knock Ekkage unconscious. “She’s all yours, Jedi. Jail her as you wish. I am leaving.”

He gives her a strange look, “Just like that? How do we part?”

The Jedi was helpful - to a point. Even so she cannot make a habit of associating with Jedi, not when she has to protect Jaesa as well. She’s already strayed too far into danger on this subject before. “If we ever meet again, I shall kill you. For now though, you’ve earned your life. And frankly, it’s been a long day and I’d rather return to my ship and my friends.”

“That’s pretty clear,” Timms agrees. He bows to her, “May the force be with you.”

She clips both her weapons back to her belt and heads towards the exit, “You as well. Come on, Vette, I’m sure you’re missing Jaesa.”

“Yeah! Plus she’s stuck with the rude asshole Sith,” Vette chimes in, tucking her hands in her pockets and following her into the old stone lift. “That’s a shit assignment.”

The last glimpse they get of Timms before the slab of rock takes them out of his view is of the Jedi moving Ekkage back towards her cell. Then they’re ascending up through the layers of earth into the light.

When they finally step into the dappled sunshine of Belsavis forests it is like taking a breath of fresh air.

“That was depressing,” Vette says, “At least it was quick though.”

Depressing is not quite the word she would use but it doesn’t matter. Her holo is ringing and that means somehow the Hand has already discovered that Ekkage has been stopped. Whoever those two Sith really are, or whoever they were before they were touched by the Emperor, she’s more than a little bit afraid of them. Their abilities are far beyond what she is capable of, like a hyperdrive compared to a combustion engine.

“Don’t talk to them,” she instructs Vette before taking the call.

She can see Vette stick her tongue out and then the two Red Sith are stepping into the blue light and all her attention goes to them, “Ekkage has been stopped, as you ordered.”

“This is only the first mission we have for you on Belsavis,” Servant One says, his monotone impossible to figure out, “Your next task is one we did not expect, as such your time frame is limited. Coordinates will be sent to this device. Go as soon as possible.”

This is unexpected. “Is Baras making another play?”

Servant Two’s reedy commentary is as indecipherable as ever, “The Wrath echoes.”

The hell does that mean?

“The previous Wrath, now a traitor to the Emperor, is on Belsavis,” Servant One explains, “The former Lord Scourge is working with a Jedi to directly oppose the Emperor. Kill him, if you can. Incapacitate him, if you cannot. By any means possible, Scourge must cease his work alongside the Jedi.”

“It will be done,” she agrees and then the call cuts.

A second later, coordinates appear on her holo.

“There’s a former Wrath?” Vette asks, incredulous, “And he’s still alive? I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem like a job where the boss is understanding when you have to quit.”

No it doesn’t. Gimrizh knows she’s going to die as the Wrath, it’s just a matter of when. “Go back to the command center,” she says, “Wait there until I return.”

“Um no!” Vette protests. She crosses her arms and tries to stare Gimrizh down, “Leave you to fight some evil Sith that’s working _with_ a Jedi? Do I have to remind you that you are technically listed as dead, and also that Jedi are likely to attack you on sight? You’re lucky Timms didn’t know you’re the new Wrath cause then he might not have been so pragmatic!”

Vette is not a force user. Vette is _not_ going to fight a Sith and however many Jedi Scourge has happened to ally himself with. “Go back to the command center, wait for Jaesa to return, do _not_ follow me,” she repeats, “I am not joking here, Vette.”

Maybe it’s something in her voice, or the mention of Jaesa that does it. “Fine,” Vette grumbles, “But I’m not happy about this.”

“You don’t have to be happy, you just have to be safe,” Gimrizh turns to face the coordinates she’s been given, somewhere further into the mountains that sit atop Deep Prison.

Vette stomps off, “Fine! I’m going to get a taxi droid and pay for it with your credits!”

~*~

Draagh is on Corellia when his master calls him, “Darth Baras, I -” He refuses to admit failure, but he isn’t going to lie so obviously, “I am still tied up with -”

“I did not call for a report,” Baras snaps. That is not a good sign. Whatever has happened, it must be some failing of Draagh’s to cause his master to be this irritated. And when his master is irritated, heads roll. “I gave you a simple assignment and it now appears as though you have utterly failed.”

He’s been serving Baras for years and he hasn’t failed once. “Master, I have followed your orders to the letter.”

“And yet my former apprentice lives. I told you to kill her, Draagh. Why is she still alive?”

“How could she be alive? I brought a cave down on her head - she couldn’t have survived that. Besides, wouldn’t your other spy have reported on her survival before now? I thought you said you had tighter control over your agents than this - the very reason you had a spy following her in the first place.”

“Apparently,” Baras says, almost impressed - surprised maybe, “Quinn has been compromised. My source claims that he thinks himself in love with Korribanil.”

Draagh can’t help it, he bursts out laughing, “Don’t joke, master! That is ridiculous.”

“Do I look as though I am joking?” Baras asks, and Draagh isn’t fool enough to take that at face value. “I have been told this information came from someone with far more insight into the situation than you. I have potentially lost my trump card against her and she remains alive, all because of your mistakes.”

It goes against his nature to leave a potential threat like that alive. “I’ll finish it, master,” Draagh assures him, “I would be honored to hunt her down again.”

“You are being placed on reserve for now,” his master informs him, “I have a different idea for how to end her life. If it fails, then I shall bring you back to finish the job. Until then, ruminate on the adage ‘they are not dead until you find the body’ and every way it could possibly apply to your mistake.”

“I am… sorry, master. It will not happen again.”

“It had better not.”

~*~

“Stop,” Scourge suddenly declares, “We are being followed.”

Who could be following them? Krannus isn’t a threat anymore, their operation on Belsavis is complete. It’s just them and a long trek back into Republic controlled territory now, they shouldn’t have any more enemies on this planet. Thutrel slowly stops walking, turning around to face his friend, “Who?”

Scourge looks into the darker areas of the forest, back towards Deep Prison, “The same person who carries a shadow of the Hand’s influence. They have deviated from their previous path and are tracking us now.”

Narrowing his vision in the force, Thutrel tries to sense out that same malicious presence he’d felt during his time under the Emperor’s will. To his surprise, he can sense nothing. Either he is blind to it, or it is beyond his capabilities to feel out so faint an echo. “I cannot feel them. Are they close?”

“Very,” Scourge says, drawing his lightsaber, not yet igniting the blade but ready to do so at a second’s notice if need be.

There’s the hiss of a lightsaber and a familiar red and blue lights up beyond the trees.

“What a surprise,” Gimrizh drawls, stepping into their sight, “I must say, I didn’t expect to see you here. Not after how we last parted.”

She’s alive! She’s okay and she’s alive! Thutrel can’t help but smile, “Gimrizh! It’s a relief to see you again! I thought, after the Maelstrom, that you might have been hurt by your injuries. I read over the reports, it shames me that the Republic gave you such poor medical assistance. And I couldn’t be sure how you would be treated by the Empire. I am sorry.”

“You should be,” she says, vicious and more than a little bitter. Stars, he should have done more for her. “And not to worry - I am fine. No thanks to you.”

“The two of you are associated?” Scourge asks. He still hasn’t lowered his lightsaber.

Thutrel nods, although he’s uncertain as to how to define their relationship, “She’s - er - we’ve met on numerous occasions before.”

“We’ve fought before, is what he means to say,” Gimrizh corrects. She looks at Scourge with a cold eye, apparently judging him as a traitor before as a person. “And you. You must be Lord Scourge. I heard you were working with a Jedi, but I didn’t expect a Sith of such renown to be lowered to working with someone like Thutrel. He’s about as antithetical to a Sith as you can get - and that isn’t a compliment.”

Even if it isn’t, Thutrel shall take it as one. The goals of the Jedi - peace, freedom - those are ones he can place his faith in.  “Everyone can change,” Thutrel reminds her, honestly believing in those words. “Sith are no exception.”

“Enough,” she says, silencing him. There’s a weight behind her voice that wasn’t there before and he can’t tell if it comes from herself or not. “I did not come here to speak with you, although that seems to be what you insist on doing every time we fight. I came here for Lord Scourge, as the Hand commands.”

Scourge tightens his grip on his blade, “The Hand doesn’t make a habit of contracting Sith. What is your full name?”

“Lord Gimrizh Korribanil,” she replies and not for the first time, Thutrel wonders what the significance of her last name is. “And I was not _contracted_ by the Hand. I, Lord Scourge, am your successor.”

A new Wrath.

~*~

When Malavai had imagined somewhere that could possibly imprison the Dread Masters, he had not expected Deep Prison to meet all of his expectations, even the most stereotypical of his assumptions. The main contingent is placed around the edge of a massive pool of molten lava, tinting the entire cavern and everything in it a hellish shade of orange. Tall statutes, half destroyed by age, stand guard around the cavern, apparent evidence of previous Rakata influence on the planet.

While it’s certainly impressive and menacing, it’s a terrible place to set up a temporary forward ops post, as Vardri is insisting upon. They’ve formed a perimeter around the edge of the cavern. As far as he can tell, there seems to be only one way to enter the containment unit that’s holding the Dread Masters, and that’s through some ancient lift in a pillar of rock standing in the center of the molten lake.

There’s still no sign of the three squads that had been sent to scout ahead.

To complicate matters more, Pierce is still refusing to so much as glance in his direction and Jaesa, having apparently picked up on some sort of conflict through her force abilities, is nervously fluttering between the two of them. Neither of the two are being particularly productive as a result.

“You and your little team are coming with me into the main prison. I want to see why Korribanil has kept such useless people alive for so long,” Vardri declares, giving Malavai the order with unbearable smugness. He snaps his fingers at a random soldier, an ensign, “You as well, with me! I need someone gathering data - I don’t really want to have any surprises and apparently you number crunchers are good for that.”

“We should have a squad follow us in,” Malavai suggests. He’s trying very pointedly not to pay attention to Pierce, who’s glaring at both him and the Sith from a few paces away. “They could also assist in recovery of the three squads that-”

Vardri lazily waves it off, “They’re dead by now. No use wasting effort on them. But I have a feeling that we’re going to encounter outside interference from the Republic, and _that’s_ why the rest of the men will be remaining here.”

“I don’t sense anything from the Republic,” Jaesa adds, biting her lip as Vardri turns to look at her.

“ _You_ ,” Vardri says sharply, “are just an apprentice.”

Jaesa flinches away, apparently remembering the Sith’s warning from earlier, “It just doesn’t seem like -”

Malavai quickly shoots her a look to cut her off, “Lord Kallig _is_ in charge here - as much as we dislike it. It might be in our best interests to just focus on completing this mission without excessive infighting.”

 _And Vardri is already out for your blood_ , is what he doesn’t say. Jaesa’s smart enough not to need that reminder.

“Finish the mission as soon as possible,” Pierce shrugs, like he can’t quite bring himself to agree, “I can do that. Got plenty of other business to take care of.”

For such an obvious threat it’s rather effective. Malavai still doesn’t know what course of action he’s going to take. There’s nothing he can do to prevent the lieutenant from informing Gimrizh of his suspicions. How she’ll react is up in the air. Part of him wants to think that she’ll actually investigate him because he _shouldn’t_ be above scrutiny just because they’re romantically involved. The lack of trust on her part would certainly be justified.

“Glad to hear it,” Vardri replies. He points at the ensign again, “You, what’s your name?”

She shakily salutes, “Ensign Ivi Tram, my lord. I’ve been assigned to Belsavis for a full year now under -”

“Don’t care,” he cuts her off. “You have a datapad? A blaster?”

“Yes, my lord, but -”

“Then let’s go.” Vardri turns and strides towards the thin bridge leading into the Dread Master’s cell, “I don’t want to waste time here. This needs to be finished hastily - before the Republic sends some fool Jedi and before Thanaton gets his second wind.”

Of course. This is just a distraction for the Sith. Malavai would never criticize the Sith Order, but these complicated power schemes and frequent usurpations often result in this callous disregard for the Army and Navy, seeing those that work everyday for the Empire as nothing more than cannon fodder. During the first few months of his service to Gimrizh, he can remember how grateful he was that she avoided such manipulations.

“I wonder how long Var- er - Lord Kallig has been serving the Sith,” Jaesa says under her breath as they follow Vardri across the bridge, lagging a ways behind the Twi’lek and the unfortunate Ensign Tram.

“Such things aren’t for us to question,” Malavai warns her, “Not here.”

She glances behind them to where Pierce is trailing them like a stalking nexu, “I haven’t read Lord Kallig but last time… everything I sense from him is confusing. As though inside, he isn’t one person but many, echoes of different force signatures laying over him like multiple shields on a ship’s hull.”

That’s probably closer than Vardri wants her to be. They have to be careful, without Gimrizh’s protection, Jaesa would be exposed easily if this Sith paid her too close attention. “A mystery for another time.”

“Then I will not ask what is between you and Lieutenant Pierce,” she counters, her voice still almost deceptively soft and for a second he wonders if it’s a threat. No, if Jaesa were to threaten him, she would be obvious about it. It must be paranoia then. Pierce is getting to him. “I won’t read either of you, it’s very rude, but is there something I can do to help?”

The suggestion genuinely surprises him. “That’s a very gracious offer. Unfortunately, no.”

“Right,” she murmurs. A shiver runs down her spine, “Something is very wrong here. I can sense such - _deep_ anger.”

“That would be the Dread Masters,” Vardri calls out, having apparently heard that last snippet of conversation.

The Sith waves his hand at the massive doors. They groan and creak open, the old stone grinding away at the bridge floor as though they have not been opened in a thousand years. Which, given how no one but Vardri seems to have so much as _heard_ of the Dread Masters before now, might very well be the case.

Dim Imperial regulation illumination packs litter the ground, revealing decaying stairs carved around the tower’s edge, spiralling down into the dark.

“Guess the previous three squads got this far,” Pierce remarks, leaning forward to peer over the edge, “Can’t see any bodies - or smell ‘em. If they’re dead, they must have kicked it further down.”

Tram nervously checks her datapad and drops an echolocator probe down the flight of stairs. The device’s slowly blinking red dot eventually fades from view and there’s the faintest sound of it hitting the bottom.

“What does it say?” Vardri asks offhandedly. He’s staring down into the dark, but his eyes are unfocused.

“No lifesigns as far as I can tell,” she reports, “Just stairs for about a mile down, and then an anti-chamber. The probe did not even detect smaller life signs - rodents, flora, the like. Er - the lieutenant is correct, our men probably died further ahead, if at all.”

Vardri tilts his head, “I think some of them are alive, but just barely.” He grins, his thin lips pulled away from sharp teeth in a manic expression. “I can sense the Dread Masters.”

“Yes,” Jaesa whispers. Her eyes go wide and she inches backwards, away from the dark, “So can I.”

“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” the Sith remarks. Without waiting for an answer, he begins the descent downwards.

None of them have a choice but to follow. Whatever it is that has Jaesa so frightened, it has had no effect on anyone else. Malavai theorizes that perhaps the Dread Master’s are only affecting force sensitives, and since Vardri is a full Sith where Jaesa is only wavering, the effect is appropriately disturbing. That of course explains little of what happened to the previous Imperial squads. Far from reassuring.

If anything, it only raises his curiosity more. Had there been signs of life - some megafauna similar to the predators that inhabit Belsavis’s surface - it would at least explain why three squads vanished down here.

It would be much more reassuring to have Gimrizh along for this mission. She’s a far superior commander to Vardri, and has a good deal more sense.

They reach the bottom, a wide antichamber, and things change.

The air thins out and while Vardri walks forward towards an open archway without pause, Jaesa gasps, stumbling backwards before falling onto the steps.

Pierce immediately goes for his blaster, he and Tram scanning the tower room for any movements.

“Do you need help?” Malavai asks carefully, kneeling down by her side. Her eyes dart around in the darkness, unfocused and obviously terrified. She grips the stone steps until her knuckles are white, “What is it? Jaesa?”

She suddenly focuses on him, grabbing at his shoulder, “The Dread Masters! They’re so - can’t you _feel_ them?!”

Of course not, he isn’t a Sith. That might not be the best thing to remind her of though. She’s more frightened than he’s ever seen her. “Tell me what it is that you’re sensing. Tell us what we need to do.”

“Oh no -!” Jaesa again looks at some point in front of her, some invisible horror. She clasps her hands over her mouth and tears start to pour down her face, “Please no! Not them, please, spare them!”

Vardri pauses, lingering at the hallway entrance, “Leave her. She’s too far gone to be useful.”

“We aren’t abandoning her!” Pierce retorts.

There’s a clank as Tram drops her datapad and everyone but Jaesa turns to the ensign.

“Oh,” Tram whispers fearfully, “Oh stars.”

She, just like Jaesa, isn’t looking at them, slowly backing up until she hits the wall and then sliding down. Her breathing spikes, hyperventilating from whatever she can see. A moment later, she passes out, her eyes rolling back in her head.

Vardri glances at her with disinterest, “I see. The Dread Master’s aren’t affecting me. I suppose they can sense I’m here to free them. That answers the question of what happened to the rest of the Imperials I sent ahead. They were too weak to survive even the dregs of the Dread Master’s aura.”

A wave of fear washes over Malavai and he whirls around to confront the Sith - shoot him, maybe, do _something_ because that is _enough_.

Only Vardri isn’t there.

The anti-chamber is empty. No Pierce, no Jaesa, no Ensign Tram. He’s suddenly alone.

“Mal?”

Ice runs through his veins as he recognizes that voice. Slowly, cautiously - because this _cannot_ be true, this has to be some machination of the Dread Masters, a trick, an illusion, _anything_ \- he turns around. "Lucian?"

And his brother - real, solid, and impossibly here - stumbles into Malavai’s arms, a smoking hole in his chest from a lightsaber wound.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyway Quinn's bi, fucking fight me Bioware.  
> As you can probably guess, Belsavis is going to be a two chapter arc. If you look at my past chapter formatting (I did not plan this but DAMN) you can probably guess when the next interlude chapter is, and yes, it will be Quinn's, and, as is the case with the other interlude chapters, will come right before a very Quinn-centric chapter (take a fuckin guess what's coming, babes)  
> Please leave a comment letting me know what you liked or didn't like, it's the only way I know what to write more of!


	24. In the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait here, I've been getting through finals and essays and ugh. Shoutout to my guest beta this chapter, RiaJade01  
> This chapter, aka: No one does anything right except Pierce, Lucian and Vette create the 'conspire against your brother' club, and Quinn has a very long day

Vette angrily kicks the ground as she paces around the Imperial base’s perimeter. Logically she knows that she’s probably going to get in Gimrizh’s way when it comes down to a mega-huge force showdown. Doesn’t mean she’s any less pissed off at being sent away like she’s just some office assistant. She’s a better shot than anyone on the team and, hell, Gimrizh can always use a bit of back up.

It’s damn unfair, being asked to leave right when things get challenging.

She’s so deep into her righteous fuming that she almost misses her holocom ringing. Damn better be Gimrizh calling to apologize for being an idiot.

“Hey!” It is not Gimrizh. It’s, to her great surprise, Lucian. “Listen, I need to ask for kind of a favor.”

Since he’s the infinitely cooler brother, Vette doesn’t automatically hang up just because he’s an Imperial and they’re technically sorta in hiding. “I’m going to need a little bit of an explanation there, smaller, less annoying Quinn.”

If she didn’t know better, she’d say he looks stressed in a way that her usual humor isn’t the best at mitigating. “Okay, for starters, Gimrizh isn’t dead, is she? I heard about the official report - found dead on Quesh. I also am not an idiot and there’s no way in hell I’m believing that. If she had died, Mal would probably be a depressed lump somewhere, not going about business as usual.”

She hesitates for a second before eventually figuring that there isn’t a chance he’ll snitch, “Yeah. She’s not dead. It was an ambush by Baras and - well, it’s a long story, but we’re trying to take the bastard out right now.”

“Baras?” Lucian nervously laughs, “That’s a joke, right?”

“I wish it was. We’re a little bit off the grid right now, and I don’t think it’d be the best idea to tell you where in the galaxy we are.”

“Are you guys going to be safe - no, that’s a stupid question. If you’re going up against Darth Baras, I’m certain the answer is no. You all aren’t… killing Imperials are you? I know that internal power struggles with Sith can be… well, _messy_.”

Vette rolls her eyes, “If you think your brother or goody-two shoes Gimrizh would kill Imperials unless they absolutely had to, you’re a damn idiot.”

“That’s a relief, although I could have done without the insult,” he says pointedly. It’s a look that she’s used to seeing on Quinn’s face and it kinda weirds her out. Proof that no matter how chill Lucian is, he’s still related to captain stuffy. “Also - did you lot, or more specifically, did Mal murder Moff Broysc?”

“Dude,” she blinks, “We did that _ages_ ago. Where have you been?”

He sighs and buries his head in his hands, “Damn it. If this is because of me and Major Ovech I swear to the force I am going to kill him. Listen - I know I’m younger than him but _stars_ does he not act like it sometimes. I thought he could leave it alone, or file a complaint, or talk to someone higher up but _noooooo_ he has to commit _murder_ instead!”

She’s taken aback for a second, “You know… I don’t think it was just because of what happened to you. I think he had his own problems with the guy beforehand.”

“Probably.” Lucian still looks a bit pissed off - but that’s fair. “There’s a lot Mal doesn’t tell me. He’s always tried to do that thing where he carries the entire burden and then never mentions any of it to me until like… two years later. Or whenever I confront him about it. Stubborn asshole.”

Vette shrugs, “So do it. Confront him about it. Call him out for keeping you in the dark all the time.”

If he had glasses, he’d be staring at her over the rim of them, “Tried that. Most of the time - and force, I _hate_ to say it - it’s because he’s genuinely involved in some heavy shit that I really don’t want to get into. And _can't_ get into, given that now he’s so involved with Sith and that entire Order seems almost as secretive and shady as Imperial Intelligence.”

“I cannot decide whether I really like you or not,” she admits, a bit perplexed, “Half the time you seem so cool and then half the time you surprise me by saying something responsible.”

He actually laughs, “I got all the cool genes in the family, I promise. Seriously though, if something comes up, let me know? Mal won’t tell me anything if I ask, but if things are getting dangerous enough that he’s having Ovech protect _me_ , things are bad. Bad enough to warrant me needing to know at least _some_ of what’s going on. I can keep an eye out for myself so long as I have a slightly bigger picture.”

“If things change, I’ll let you know,” she promises and she finds that she actually means it. He might be an imp, but he’s still alright by her. “We should be wrapping things up on Belsavis and I’ll holo you as soon as I know where we’re going next.”

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, “I really do appreciate it.”

Before she closes the call, Vette asks, “Hey, how come you’re asking me? I’m not normally the go-to person for information.”

Lucian grins, somewhat sheepishly, “I figured you were the least likely person to tell Mal.”

“Welcome to the ‘conspire against your brother’ club,” she says with a wink, “I’ll get us t-shirts.”

~*~

“Pity,” Vardri yawns. He doesn’t _need_ this little group’s help in order to free the Dread Masters, but it would have been convenient to have a few pairs of extra hands around. The sudden lack of four extra people is irritating. As is the fact that even the little Sith apprentice succumbed to the Master’s influence. Really, she’s a force user, after all, and she’s technically Sith, although Vardri has his doubts. She should show a little more decorum.

He stares down at Jaesa Willsaam and nudges her arm with the tip of his boot. She doesn’t move, her eyes glassed over as she mutters to herself.

“Master - please - I can’t - help us - “ she mumbles, barely coherent.

Vardri raises an eyebrow as he realizes what she’s doing. “Aw,” he coos, “You’re trying to beg your master to help you. How precious. Good luck with that.”

Perhaps, despite Vardri’s own suspicions about how powerful that girl truly is, at the end of the day she’s just an apprentice.

He actually has very little against Gimrizh herself. The Zabrak is irritating, to be sure, and he dislikes her attitude. She’s often angry to be sure, but the rest of her is restrained in a way that makes him mentally separate her from the ideals of the Sith. And she was born with power. Vardri has had to claw his way into the Sith Order, fight for every scrap of knowledge he has, and she was given it all. He resents her for that.

No, she’s fun to meddle, but he doesn’t despise her. It’s this little thin smear of an apprentice that truly makes him furious. Gimrizh, when all is said and done, isn’t a threat to him anymore than another powerful Sith would be. But little Miss Willsaam…

The way her power is focused entirely on mental clarity and unstoppable by the barriers of even the most trained force users - it’s the one thing that could _destroy_ Vardri. He’s already struggled enough to deal with damn Thanaton, flown halfway around the galaxy to fix that one weakness of his. As much as he hates to admit it, her ability doesn’t seem to have a counter. If she went against him, he’s not certain that he would win. Of course, she’s so emotionally weak that he doesn’t think she’d ever attack him. It’s just not a risk he’s used to taking.

He nudges her again, to see if she’ll react. There’s nothing.

“I wonder,” he thinks aloud, “As you are now, could you stop me from killing you?”

If he stabbed her through the head, would she realize in time to save her own life or would she be too out of it to notice?

Maybe it’s not worth it. She doesn’t show any signs of wanting to attack him, and his warnings seem to have done a good job of scaring her away. If he were to kill her of course, Gimrizh would find out that he did it. She’d come after him, and while he thinks he could win against her, that isn’t a definite. And any victory against her would result in weakening himself and his forces in a way that he’s not willing to risk, given that Thanaton still lives and Vardri’s power base isn’t yet quite secure.

The temptation to kill her now and be done with it passes.

He’s far more entranced by the Dread Masters, by the potential power for the taking, even as he runs his hand over the hilt of his lightsaber, “Here’s a little warning for you,” he tells Jaesa, even though she cannot hear him, “If you ever become a threat to me, I’ll kill you without hesitation and certainly without mercy. I would recommend you find a quiet little corner of the galaxy to live in and stay out of my way.”

“Don’t you dare touch her.”

That’s a surprise. Vardri had thought that the entire crew had fallen to the terror the Masters produce - but the lieutenant has apparently pulled himself out of that long enough to retain a sliver of coherency.

“Oh?” Vardri walks over to Pierce and peers at him. The man is still fighting the Masters, still slipping in and out of consciousness, but that’s more than can be said for the rest of the team, which has fallen and not woken up since. “Protective of the girl, huh? I wonder what made you pull yourself out.”

Pierce’s eyes go blank for a moment before he struggles back to alertness, glaring at Vardri with surprising anger, “Doesn’t matter.” He pushes himself up, his hands curling into fists on the rock wall, “Stay _away_ … from Jaesa...”

“I’ll do as I please,” he remarks, no longer particularly interested in this.

If he’s decided not to kill Jaesa Willsaam, then he’s no longer got any reason to remain here - not when the Dread Masters are so close. He turns his back on the lieutenant and steps through the arched hallway. Just ahead, he can feel the thick, cloying presence that whispers of power beyond his imaginations.

There’s a warning in the force and Vardri looks over his shoulder to see - to his astonishment - Lieutenant Pierce shakily aiming a rifle at him.

“Are you going to kill me?” he asks. He’s more amused than anything - a non force user doesn’t pose a threat to him. “That won’t work out well for you.”

“Fuck off,” Pierce grits out between his teeth.

He pulls the trigger.

Vardri draws his lightsaber and flicks the bolt to the side - only it isn’t a stun bolt or a standard blaster bolt, it’s heavier -

It explodes above him and the hallway ceiling collapses, tons of rock dropping onto Vardri’s head.

~*~

The pounding rhythm of battle roars in Gimrizh’s ears as her lightsabers clash against Scourge’s. Thutrel steps in, parries one of her blades, and then lets himself be thrown out of the fight between Sith. Fool though he may be, his desire to fight her is non existent and as much as she hates to admit it, Scourge does not need his help.

They collide, her blades flashing as she pivots and whirls around him, trying to get under his guard, get close enough to draw first blood. Scourge is like a rock as he hits back, sending her skidding backwards.

She throws her red lightsaber at him in an arc. When he sends it back towards her, she leaps into the air, catches her second blade, and slams both down upon his head. He blocks a fraction of a second before she would have killed him and tosses her to the side. She hits the ground on the balls of her feet and flips her blades around, slashing at his legs and he jumps backwards before she can cut him.

This isn’t a fight she thinks she can win. Scourge is good - better than she is.

None of her usual advantages are helping here. She relies on being faster than her opponent, more agile, able to attack from above and below. Strike first, strike last, and make that the same strike. Scourge isn’t falling to any of her usual tricks. He’s somehow both faster and stronger than her, and he’s more in tune with the force than she is and better at sensing what she’s going to do. It’s like he’s already watched her lose and is just helping her march towards that inevitable end.

How the hell did the Hand think she could stop him? What were they thinking when they appointed her the new Wrath - if this is what her predecessor is capable of she shouldn’t have been given the position. It’s obvious that she’s out of her depth.

What path can she, or should she take?

Stay, continue to fight, and hope that at her defeat Scourge does not kill her, or run and risk the Hand’s ire for abandoning her mission?

It all comes down to whether or not Scourge will take her life.

Sparks fly as she slams her blades against his and then -

_Master!_

Screams burn in her mind, her weapons fall from her hands without thought and she crumples to the ground, clutching her head.

_Help, please, the Dread Masters are awake! I can’t - I’m too scared - They’ve done something, fear permeates this place and we’ve all - It’s hurting all of us - please help_ -

“Jaesa,” she gasps.

Echoes of Jaesa’s terror ripples through their bond in the force, laced with flashes of what she’s seeing. It’s impossible to tell what’s real. There’s bursts of a stone room - Pierce and fire, an ensign unconscious on the ground, Malavai staring at something that doesn’t exist, bits of Jaesa’s sight as she flickers in and out of the Dread Master’s terror. And then short, red tinged images of a Jaesa with bloody eyes and a sharp grin that sits strangely on her lips.

It’s just so - so _wrong_. Like a shattered mirror, reflecting Jaesa only in pieces.

And Malavai, that shocked, fearful look in his eyes, breaking through his usual composure - she doesn’t want to know what it is he’s seeing, can’t even imagine it.

Sparks shower down over the top of her bowed head.

“Stop!” Thutrel demands, his voice breaking, “Can’t you see something is wrong with her?”

She cautiously glances up to see his bright green lightsaber blocking Scourge’s blade an inch above her horns. He would have killed her. The visions - whatever it is Jaesa’s seeing - it had consumed Gimrizh’s sight. She almost died and she didn't even notice.

Scourge just calmly glances at Thutrel, “If I were so incapacitated, do you think she would not take advantage of that lapse to strike me down?”

“Of course not, she’s a good person,” he says defensively.   
“She is the new Wrath. I doubt she obtained that position by allowing her enemies to live against her orders.”

“Scourge. Put your lightsaber down. We are not killing her and this is _not_ up for discussion.”

Gimrizh clears her throat, trying to speak around her fear, “I surrender. I give up - I’m not fighting you any more - I can’t, there’s no time. I-” she pushes herself to her feet and uses the force to recall her lightsabers, clipping them to her belt before Scourge attacks her again, “I yield. You don’t need to worry about me pursuing you.”

There’s annoyingly honest concern on Thutrel’s face as he asks, “What’s wrong? And don’t say nothing - _that_ was not nothing.”

“My team is in danger and unlike you Jedi, I care for them more than -” she almost chokes on the words. “They were on a mission to free the Dread Masters and now they’re trapped. The entire Imperial expedition is in danger and my friends are - It’s none of your business. I don’t need your permission to leave.”

He holds out his hand before she can walk away, “Wait, please! Your team? They’re trapped? And who are the Dread Masters?”

“Dangerous,” Scourge says, “They destroyed entire fleets of ships during the war, utilizing their unique ability to inflict terror upon all around them. There were reports of enemies dying of fear in their presence, and they cared little about whether they were using that power on enemies or allies.”

She shakes off the tremor that runs down her spine at those words. “Thank you for that history lesson that I don’t have time for - you see why I need to leave?”

“You’re right.” Thutrel determinedly squares his shoulders and nods, “We’re going with you.”

What in the hells? “No you are not.”

“I won’t let your friends suffer at the hands of such terrifying Sith,” he says firmly.

Scourge sighs, “Very well. If the Dread Masters are freed, it would be counterproductive to our goals.”

Every second they waste here is another second that she’s not helping Malavai and her team. And Scourge would be an asset. “Fine. But if either of you harm a single Imperial there will be hell to pay.”

~*~

“I don’t -” Lucian chokes out, blood frothing at the corners of his mouth, “- understand. Why would she?”

Malavai tries to put pressure on his brother’s injury even as a tiny, clinical voice in his head reminds him that a wound that large is fatal. There’s nothing he can do, not without a kolto tank miraculously appearing here. That’s unacceptable though, there has to be _something_ , what _use_ is being a medical officer if he can't stop his own brother from dying?

“Just stay with me, stay awake,” he says desperately.

How did a lightsaber - was it Vardri? A Jedi? “Why did she…?” Lucian coughs and his chest heaves painfully, “I don’t…”

“Who?” Malavai asks, trying to get his brother to focus. Keep him awake, keep him alive. “Who hurt you? What happened? What can I _do_?”

Lucian’s eyes glaze over.

No, no, _no_! That was too fast, there should have been more time, time enough to save him. If Malavai had more tools, if he had a med bay, he could have -

“Lucian?” He presses his fingers to his brother’s pulse, hoping against hope, even as there’s no heartbeat, “Please, no, you _cannot_ die on me!”

His vision blurs. Behind him, there’s the quiet hiss of a lightsaber igniting.

“Does this hurt you?” Gimrizh asks. Her footsteps echo sharply in the room as she steps in front of him.

Malavai stares up at her through his tears - thank the force she’s here, she can help, she can do something, he’s heard rumors of Sith that can bring back the dead - “Gimrizh, please, help Lucian - I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what happened -”

“I happened,” she tells him.

He looks at her, really looks, and everything is wrong. The cold blue of her lightsaber throws harsh shadows on her face and it shows the strangeness there. She’s calm, calmer than he’s ever seen her. He’s used to seeing an undercurrent of emotion on her face, the little signs of worry or laughter around her eyes, that frustrated tug on her lips, a slight flush of embarrassment, all her usual minute tells.

There’s nothing. No emotion on her whatsoever. Nothing in her stance, her face - her eyes are just blank and glassy and - and brown. Not yellow.

“What…?” He doesn’t understand, “What are you saying?”

He can barely hear the words that come out of her mouth, it’s just so impossible. “I killed Lucian. He was an Imperial soldier. His death was necessary.”

Looking at her is like looking at a Jedi. “Why? Just - why?”

“It wasn’t because of you,” she replies, “It wasn’t because of what you did to me - not really. It doesn’t even hurt me anymore.”

“I - I hurt you?” Of course he did, he’s hurt her since the day he met her. “Gimrizh, I am so sorry for everything, I didn’t - It was never my intent to hurt you. I will do anything to apologize, but please - please don’t put Lucian’s life on the line for my mistakes. If this is because of me, take my life, but spare his.”

She’s still blank, like a sheet of glass. “I told you, this isn’t because of what you did. This is just because you - and Lucian - are Imperial. You were right to suspect me of being sympathetic to the Jedi, Malavai. After all the Jedi I spared, after _Jaesa_ , after what you did to me - joining them was merely the next step. It was the logical choice, and given that your betrayal of me was also the logical choice for you, can you truly fault me for that?”

“You - you joined the _Jedi_?”

“You say that as though you have never looked at my actions as thought of them as unconventional, or suspicious, or even dangerous. As though you didn’t suspect me of treason the moment you discovered I allowed Jaesa to remain a Jedi.”

“I didn’t - I assure you, I did _not._ Please, whatever you did, whatever _I_ did, save Lucian, I beg you!”

She glances dispassionately at his brother’s body, “No. I won’t. I will not save you, either. Although I killed him because of his allegiance and nothing more, and although I feel nothing towards you or your past actions - you have earned your death.”

It has to be false - but Jedi are emotionless and she’s a blank slate. She’s gone. There’s just a block of ice instead of a woman.

~*~

“You tried to rape and kill a woman in front of me and now you think you can strong arm your way onto my ship? You fuckwit.”

It’s a rhetorical question. The man’s dead now, after all. Oren gives Skadge’s corpse a final glare before holstering his blaster and dropping an incendiary bomb onto the body. No need to leave a bloody mess for some cleaner after all. Whatever survives the fire will certainly be easier to tidy up.

“Blizz,” he says, “Why don’t you help Gault convince the port authorities that they didn’t see anything? Holo footage will be wiped either way, but I’d rather Gault just smooth talk them into agreeing, as opposed to any more permanent measures.”

The Jawa swipes one of Skadge’s dropped blasters off the ground before cheerfully agreeing and bustling off to where Gault is.

That, Oren supposes, is Belsavis over and done with. Interesting planet, but expensive as hell to get decent gear and repairs on, given that everything has to be imported from half a galaxy away under war-tightened supply lines. And the pay from this job will be nice, but not quite enough. The Empire is efficient, he’ll give it that. If they paid him even the slightest bit lower he would never be working for them, but a good deal more money would have made him too suspicious to take the job.

_Remembrance_ welcomes him with a blast of cool air, a much needed relief from the humidity of Belsavis. He’s sweltering under his fur and there’s blood caked under his claws, congealing from the heat. That’ll take forever to clean off. It reeks too.

“How are we doing, babes?” he asks, stepping onto the bridge.

Torian and Mako are going over whatever’s in the message Tormen has sent. “Well,” Mako says diplomatically, “We finished the job and Tormen’s sending us what he said he would. Isn’t sending any extra, either.”

No tip? That’s stingy. And after everything Oren had to deal with on his way to Barrows too. “I wasn’t expecting extra, but still. Blasted Sith.”

“Tormen also hasn’t provided us with information on our next target.” Torian passes over the datapad displaying the message, “It might be a few weeks or a month until he has enough to send us after Redrish - she’s on Voss right now. The political climate there is going to make it challenging for us to work, apparently.”

And if they don’t get paid till they complete a new job, they’re probably going to burn through the credits they have long before they hop over to Voss.

Mako sheepishly tugs on her ponytail, “We’re a tad short in the funds department.”

“Fuck me,” Oren deadpans, staring at their credit statement on the datapad.

Mako laughs, “Maybe later.”

“Oh hush, babe. We do need cash.” Torian nudges her with his foot. “There’s only so much money we can get on Belsavis, going after escaped criminals and the like. We need to pay for repairs, too. Everyone’s kits got a bit trashed and _Remembrance_ has to be refueled. Then there’s food and supplies to stock up on, unless we want to not eat all the way to Voss.”

Oren tosses the datapad back onto the terminal, “What have we got? How’s that missing person job we took a while ago coming along?”

“Vette’s mother? I’m still looking,” Mako admits, “Can’t find her by name on the holonet, which is… not that surprising, given that she’s a slave.”

“That job also won’t pay enough, unless we overcharge. I can’t speak for you, but I’m not going to overcharge someone who’s just looking for her mother.” Torian crosses his arms sternly, and Oren isn’t going to disagree with him. They’re hunters, not used speeder salesmen. Well, he doesn’t include Gault in that.

So they’re looking for something that’ll pay quickly and lucratively. “Check the blacklist,” Oren suggests.

There’s a silent moment in which all three of them look a tad nervous.

“I _am_ the only one left who can take those bounties,” he reminds them. “It’s worth a shot.”

Mako checks the list.

As soon as he leans over her shoulder to see, Torian swears in Mando’a. Oren scrambles to take a look at the screen.   
“Fucking hells.” His jaw drops open. “That’s a lot of zeros.” Kill one measly Sith for _that much_ money? That’s a pretty damn good deal. He’s killed a Jedi before, he can do one Sith. “Where is she? Is she in the nearby systems?”

“Give me a second.” Mako pulls up an input field and starts speedily typing away. A few logs flash by and then she’s got security footage of a Imperial _Fury_ -class Interceptor sitting in a docking bay that looks strangely familiar. “Well. Her ship is about three docking bays to our left. I’m guessing she’s not too far away.”

Same planet? Oh stars, what are the _odds_?

Torian’s mouth twists into a thoughtful tug, “I’m not trying to act like that’s not _good_ luck, but it is a hell of a coincidence. Can we really trust this… Darth Baras? I know it sounds paranoid…”

“But it’s not paranoia if people really are out to get you,” Oren finishes. “We’ll give it a try. Contact Baras and tell him that I’m willing to take a look at this job. I’m not certain yet, even though that’s a hell of alot of credits. Drop a tracker on her ship while we’re here so if she leaves the planet we can follow her. I’ll be considering the job while we get restocked with what cash we’ve got on hand.”

Torian grins at him, “How’s that armour I gave you coming along? Got enough money to source the rest of the set?”

“You’re in charge of the cash, babe. You tell me.”

~*~

_This_ , Vardri thinks, _is ridiculous_.

Using the force like a vibrohammer, he throws the rubble around him out of his way until a path is cleared. Hot wet blood has plastered a section of his robes to his upper thigh, but it’s a moment’s work for him to shut down the pain in that area, teasing the force into the wound to coax it into healing faster than it should. There’s a small bump under his lekku, nothing serious, just irritating.

He’s furious with himself for letting some force-blind lieutenant actually get the drop on him. A blaster? Force, he’s supposed to be above this.

In the long run, it doesn’t matter. He might have been delayed, but he still has a goal, he can still sense the seductive thrum of the Dread Masters in the force, just ahead of him. He ignites his lightsaber, letting the red illuminate the corridor, and heads towards his goal.

~*~

Gimrizh barely skids to a stop once they reach the main Imperial expedition. Her breathing is labored and sweat sticks her hair to her forehead from running, and she can’t get her heartsbeat to slow down because she can’t see anyone from her team nearby. She’s too frantic to try and sense them and while Jaesa is reaching out to her through the force, it’s a tenuous, fluttering touch that’s tricky to locate.

“My lord!” A lieutenant salutes her as she approaches the expedition. “We were not expecting backup…?”

Behind her, Scourge steps in front of Thutrel ever so slightly. A pureblood Sith is likely good cover for such an infamous Jedi. “I am aware,” she snaps, “I am also aware that you’ve likely lost contact with the group that went ahead - haven’t you?”

He clears his throat, “We have, my lord. All attempts to communicate through holo failed, and as our orders were to stay behind regardless, we haven’t sent a team in after losing contact with Lord Kallig. We’ve just been holding this position, keeping the fauna away.”

“Good. We’re going after them. I want you to get anyone with medical training ready,” Gimrizh orders. “But do not follow - whatever the Dread Masters are doing is going to affect everyone, even force users, although to a lesser degree. Sending a team after us would only result in more people to rescue.”

“Yes, my lord.” He pauses and frowns at Thutrel, as though trying to get a closer look at the Jedi’s face, “Your companions… are they -?”

She cuts him off before he can make the connection, “We need every Sith we can get.”

To her relief, he doesn’t look closer, “Of course, my lord. Is there anything more we can do for you before you depart?”

“No.” Gimrizh is already half way across the bridge as she says this, the lieutenant at her heels.

A shudder runs down her spine, like cold water dosing every spark of hope and happiness in her hearts. Scourge is still presenting a barrier between Thutrel and the soldier, his expression never changing as they approach the center tower, even though he must feel it as well. She’s not sure how he’s Sith, given how he seems to feel nothing at all.

Once the lieutenant leaves, Scourge calmly remarks, “The Dread Masters are waking up.”

“Is there still time to stop them from escaping?” Thutrel asks, “Before they can do any more damage than they already have?”

“If we can prevent this Lord Kallig from freeing them, yes.”

None of that matters. All that matters is making sure her crew is safe - making sure Malavai is safe. The Dread Masters can wreck havoc on Belsavis for all she cares, so long as her team is off the planet before then.

The chill gets worse as they step into the tower room, the scattered illumination packs doing nothing to alleviate the darkness winding around their ankles.

She can sense them now. How far down is it? The stairs snake around the edge of the tower, if she does it right -

“No wait!” Thutrel yells after her as she leaps down into the shadows of the tower, “Gimrizh! _Wait_!”

The stairs cut into her knees as she hits them. She pushes herself up and jumps again, throwing herself across the gap and landing on the stairs across from her, five flights down. It’s fastest, no matter how much it’ll tire her out. Even though she consciously knows that the Dread Masters are making the fear in her mind worse than it should be, she can’t fight it off.

Above her, she can hear Thutrel and Scourge running after her, but then the blood is rushing through her ears and all she can hear is the thud of her own hearts.

Her feet thud onto the last flight and can smell the acrid burn from a blaster explosion. Two figures on the stairs slide into view, Jaesa with Pierce kneeling at her side.

“Jaesa!” She skids to a stop by her apprentice’s side. “Jaesa?”

Her apprentice is lying on the stairs and barely is able to focus on her, “M- master? You… you came for us.”

“She’s not- not doing too well,” Pierce informs her. He’s slipping in and out of focus as well, like he’s fighting it, or like whatever it is that’s gripping him doesn’t have as much purchase. “It’s some sort of… of fear. Everyone else got it. Not me thought. Also I shot Vardri. Sorry, boss… he was going after Jaesa.”

Gimrizh tries to reach out to Jaesa through the force, recoiling as soon as she touches her mind. It’s a pounding haze of terror, wrapping around Jaesa’s thoughts and emotions. “There’s help coming,” she assures him, “Er - A Jedi and traitor, but they’re going to get you all to safety, tell them that Jaesa needs help and they’ll get you back to the expedition.”

“The hells?” he mutters, “I’ll get Jaesa out on my own.”

“Just - just get to safety. Who else is down here, where’s -” her throat suddenly becomes dry as she tries to speak, “Where’s Malavai?”

Pierce points down to the base of the tower, “Bastard got hit with this fear bullshit. There’s an ensign too - Tram.”

“Get yourself and Jaesa out,” she orders him, already moving down the last set of stairs into the darkest part of the tower. She can’t see too well down here, but now that she’s closer, now that she can knows where Malavai is, she can faintly sense his presence.

There’s a collapsed section of wall, a tiny woman in an ensign’s uniform passed out near the stairs, and then there’s -

“Malavai!”

He’s alive, he’s okay, she can help - He’s not looking at her.

Just like Jaesa, his blue eyes slip in and out of focus, caught up in whatever it is that the Dread Masters are making him see. She drops to her knees by his side, gently reaching out till her fingertips brush against his cheek. His skin is colder than it should be and he flinches as soon as she touches him.

At that tiny movement, she goes still. “Malavai?” she asks, almost a plea. _Hear my voice. Listen to me_. “It’s me, I’m here.”

His hand shoots up to grab her wrist, painfully tight. “Gimrizh?”

Thank the stars - his eyes open - he can see her - he’s back! There’s a heartbreaking tint of fear in his eyes as he stares at her, fear from the Dread Masters, from - from - She can’t breathe all of a sudden. He’s terrified of _her_.

“I’m -” What can she say? What did he see? “Malavai, I’m here to help. Whatever it is, whatever the Dread Masters are forcing you to see, it’s not real. It’s just part of their lie. I’m not going to hurt you, I _swear_ , I _love_ you, please, let me help you.”

“ _Since when has your_ love _stopped you from hurting others?_ ”

That voice -

Gimrizh’s hearts skip a beat. She presses her eyelids shut, gritting her teeth, and telling herself firmly that none of this is real - that voice isn’t real - that fear is just a fabrication of the Dread Masters - she’s not here -

“You’re…” Malavai’s staring intently at her, picking apart the details of her face, searching for something, “not a Jedi?”

She kisses him, trying to shove every emotion she’s feeling into it, like she’s burning the taste of her passion onto his lips. “Hells no. If I were a Jedi, I couldn’t have felt that.”

“Thank the force,” he murmurs. He pulls her closer, a tremor running through his limbs that he can’t quite hide, “I thought… Oh, Gimrizh, I am _so_ sorry. I am utterly undeserving of you and there’s nothing I can do to make up for this. You were right, I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I will have fully earned whatever death you choose to give me -”

What did they do to hurt him? “I’ll never hurt you like that - I swear on the force. Malavai, please, it was just a vision - it wasn’t real.”

“ _Since when has your word mattered_?”

“It’s _not_ real,” she insists.

There’s the sound of two people running down the stairs and a moment later she can see Thutrel and Scourge standing nearby. Thutrel’s lip has been split, a smear of blood marking his face.

“Lieutenant Pierce and Miss Willsaam are heading towards the Imperial encampment. He, er, had a very strong reaction to my presence,” Thutrel informs her, awkwardly blotting his split lip on the corner of his sleeve, “They should be safe soon, so long as we can prevent the other Sith - Lord Vardri Kallig, correct? - from reaching the Dread Masters and freeing them.”

The sooner they contain the threat of the Masters, the sooner this terror will stop affecting Malavai. “Do it,” she tells them, “I’m remaining behind. I can get Malavai and Ensign Tram out - and to be frank, I have a lot more to risk by going up against Vardri than either of you.”

Scourge starts lifting rocks out of the way, already more interested by their larger goal than his Jedi friend seems to be. “Are you sure-” Thutrel tries to ask.   
“Go.” Gimrizh only peripherally cares about the Dread Masters, and even then her concern is simply the effect they have on her team.

“Gimrizh, it’s - Lord Kallig -” Malavai tries to tell her, “I thought he was the killer but I was mistaken -  
It’s not real, it’s not real, whatever hurt him like this is false. She repeats that like a mantra, almost more for herself than for him - all she can do for him now is help get him and the ensign out of here.

There’s the sound of rocks shifting and then Thutrel and Scourge are gone.

“ _All alone again_.”

Fine. Gimrizh stands up, steels herself, and turns around to face the apparition that she knows is there - and it’s not Yaina. But she thought - Of course it’s not Yaina. She’s not scared of -

“My errant apprentice,” Baras says in greeting - and suddenly the room is frigid and she can’t see anything, and Malavai’s gone. He’s not there anymore.

The realization - that she is alone, that she stepped into this trap willingly, that she doesn’t know how to break this - slams into her, a bucket of ice dropped on her head.

“You see,” Baras continues, his hands clasped behind his back as though this is just another regular occurrence for him, as though she’s not even on his radar, “I still garner your fear. Despite your conviction that you _could_ defeat me, you only barely believe it. Half of you is convinced that you’ll die before ever facing me in single combat. That’s the reason you were so terrified of crossing me, wasn’t it? You know that my power stretches farther than yours ever will.”

Terror creeps up on her, freezing her limbs. She can’t reach for her lightsabers. “I didn’t - master, I didn’t mean to go against you. I never would have betrayed you on my own.”

He raises a hand, fingertips already crackling with lightning, “That’s irrelevant now.”

The pain will be worse than last time, she knows. It always is when she’s afraid of it.

~*~

Massive stasis chambers line the cavern walls, each one either empty and dusty, or containing a slumbering Dread Master. Down here, the terror that they’re giving off makes Thutrel’s very bones feel frozen stiff. It’s false though, ringing with a familiar echo of the dark side that he knows well enough to ignore, pushing the fear to the back of his mind. There is too much at stake here for him to succumb to that again.

The Masters are powerful, certainly, but they are not close to the overbearing presence of the Emperor. If Thutrel can throw off Vitiate, he can throw off them too.

“Lord Kallig - Vardri,” he says cautiously, holding out his open and empty hands as he and Scourge approach the Sith. “Please, stand down. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Vardri looks incredulous at that, “You really don’t, do you. What a ridiculous thing to think before a fight.”

Behind them, Scourge is slowly moving around the cavern, stalking at the enemy. Damn it, Thutrel wishes his companion could be less confrontational. “This doesn’t have to come to conflict. There is always a peaceful option. If you leave with me, we can escape the influence of the Dread Masters and return to safety.”

He rolls his eyes, “I’m not doing this because of their ‘influence’ on me or whatever. I’m doing this for their power. I know a Jedi such as yourself wouldn’t understand.”

“I do, I _do_ understand,” Thutrel tries. “The temptation of power is a strong one to resist, but -”

Vardri throws a bolt of lightning at him.

Distracted as he is, Thutrel grasps his lightsaber a second too slowly. He’s not fast enough to block the strike -

Scourge’s red lightsaber catches the electricity, stepping between him and Vardri in a flash.

“Ah, the traitor bares his fangs.” Vardri draws his blade. He prowls back and forth, not changing his position, as though he can’t contain his energy. Something in the tilt of his head, the clawed grip on his lightsaber - it speaks to Thutrel of someone trying to play at being a hunter. “Just because you have some beaten Sith working for you like an akk dog doesn’t mean you can win here, _Jedi_.”

Why won’t Vardri stand down? Letting the Masters go won’t just harm the Republic - they’ll devastate the Empire too. “The Dread Masters can’t be used by one person for their power. Free them, and they’ll attack the Empire just the same.”

“I can control them,” Vardri replies, his confidence unshaken. “Your tactics aren’t going to work on me.”

Tactics? “This isn’t some strategy, I swear it. I want to help you.”

“Attempting to reason with him will not solve this,” Scourge says calmly, his blade still held at the ready, “If we are to stop him from releasing the threat of the Dread Masters and fulfilling Vitiate’s goal for this planet, we will not achieve that goal by simply talking to Kallig.”

“If a few words were all it took to get me to back down, I would not be Sith.” Vardri tenses and that’s all the warning they get before he attacks.

Thutrel is ready this time, putting himself between Vardri and Scourge. Their blades clash for only a moment before Vardri has to disengage and dodge Scourge’s blow that almost cleaves his head from his shoulders. They’re so close that Thutrel can see the whites of Vardri’s eyes widen as Scourge’s lightsaber burns a nick onto his lekku.

Then Vardri pulls back and changes tactics, throwing lightning at Scourge for him to deal with while slamming his blade down on Thutrel with vicious force.

Going by how short and thin Vardri is, it shouldn’t be surprising how fast he is. The Twi’lek isn’t particularly acrobatic, or even dexterous, but he’s darting in and out of engagements like blinking, quickly switching between attacking Thutrel or dodging Scourge. It’s all that strength based Sith form too, the one lightsaber form that the Jedi don’t teach very often and thus the one that Thutrel always struggles to combat.

On his own, Thutrel might have lost. With Scourge at his side however, it’s easy to see that the fight will be over shortly.

A particularly nasty slash from the Sith that Thutrel has to quickly deflect just proves that assessment. Vardri is too aggressive. Where Scourge and Thutrel are content to wait out a fight - Thutrel out of pacifism, and Scourge out of apathy - Vardri is not. He keeps throwing lightning across the cavern as though it’s not wearing him down. Keeps overextending, stepping out of his measure to try and get a killing blow. While he’s nimble enough to slip away from a failing engagement, he doesn’t have the stamina to keep up that tactic.

Thutrel locks his blade against Vardri’s and snaps his wrist to the side. There’s a moment where Vardri struggles against the blow and then his fingers are forced slack. His lightsaber deactivates and falls from his hand.

“Surrender,” Thutrel pleads. He will not harm an unarmed foe.

Lightning breaks from Vardri’s hands like an explosion and Thutrel slides into a soresu form block, the energy crackling through the air as it collides.

Then Vardri is suddenly thrown across the chamber like a limp akk dog.

Scourge lowers his hand, “He wasn’t going to surrender, and your method wastes time.”

“Is he okay?” Thutrel asks, rushing across to check Vardri’s vitals. The Twi’lek still has a pulse, thank the force. It looks like he just cracked his head against the wall, knocking him unconscious. He’ll have a nasty bump between his lekku for a while, but in the long run there shouldn’t be any damage. “He’ll be fine. I have to get him to a medical unit, though.”

“If you insist.” Scourge runs his fingers over the dust covering one of the massive terminals hooked up to the containment units. “The fields that keep the Dread Master’s influence from spreading have been loosened. I will tighten them once more, and then I will melt the panel shut, so that no one can free them again.”

Using the force to support Vardri’s body, Thutrel picks up his fallen opponent. “I’ll meet you up top, then.”

He can hear the whirring of machinery as he leaves the way they came, back through the dark and looming halls of the prison. Running through here the first time was certainly faster, but he’s hesitant to do something like that. It could worsen Vardri’s injuries.

The relief he should feel at having secured Belsavis from the Dread Masters’ wrath is lessened by the fact that their presence still seeps through him. Until Scourge seals them away once more, none of them are safe. Not even Gimrizh and her team, away from the Masters at the Imperial encampment, are truly safe. The immediate threat is gone though. He’ll leave Lord Kallig the Sith to recover, and with the Dread Masters permanently imprisoned, the threat will be contained.

This won’t be over though. Until he captures the Emperor, the war will rage on. Perhaps not on Belsavis, but on other worlds across the galaxy.

When he’s finally done, he thinks he’d like to take Theron Shan up on that chat.

He steps over the collapsed archway, careful to keep Vardri’s body from hitting any of the fallen stones. Expecting to see an empty room, he’s shocked to find that the ensign, Captain Quinn, and Gimrizh remain.

What are they still _doing_ here? He thought Gimrizh was getting them to safety!

Leaving Vardri to float in the force, he rushes to her side, “Gimrizh? Why are you still here, it’s not safe! Your friend will…”

She’s not moving. Her limbs are curled protectively around her chest as though hiding an injury, her breathing shallow, and her eyes closed tight.

“Oh no.” It got to her, too.

Nothing for it then. Thutrel reaches for the force and wraps it around all four people. If they can’t walk, he can carry them out.

~*~

Ille runs after the major before he can think too hard about what he’s about to do and the ramifications of his actions. “Major, wait! A moment of your time, please.”

There’s a stack of datapads in Ovech’s arms when he turns around and a harried look on his face. He waves off the ensign who’s been following him with a supply crate in hand. “Ille, if this is about the updated sub-light engine regulations, I’ve already received ten complaints from that many squads today. All I can tell you is to take it up with Engineering -”

“No, that’s not it, sir.”

Some of the deadness on Ovech’s face lifts. Ille almost feels bad for the major. Being up for a promotion to Moff is no small thing, but since there isn’t a Sith around to instantly secure the new appointment, the whole procedure goes through the military. Which, while the data pushers are efficient as hells, can take a long time. That, and there have been a number of hearings as to whether or not Ovech is best suited for the position, including a number of very thorough investigations regarding the matter with the Cato Neimoidia research station.

Part of Ille is quite glad that he’s got no real ambitions outside of a fighter cockpit. He’s here to do his duty to the Empire, however that may be, he’s just sort of lucky that it won’t include filling out thousands of data forms in triplicate.

“Oh,” Ovech shifts the stack of datapads, “What is it?”

Ille clears his throat nervously. He’s never done it like this before. “Sir. I’m requesting a transfer, alongside Lucian Quinn, to serve as your aid during this transition process.”

“You… would be leaving your squad. Lucian isn’t doing this voluntarily, you do know that?” Ovech confirms.

He nods, “I know, sir. I…” This is the difficult part, “I want to stay by his side. I have to.”

For a moment, he thinks Ovech might outright dismiss him and that he’ll have to find another way. “Fine. I have to reassign most of your squad anyway. Congratulations, you’ll be transferred as well. Welcome to a life of glorified secretarial duties.”

“Thank you, sir.”

~*~

Jaesa huddles at Pierce’s feet as they wait for the last Sith - Scourge, she thinks - to finish sealing the Dread Masters. For Master Gimrizh to wake up. For Vette to come back.

That last one is so improbable, Vette probably doesn’t even know they’re in trouble, or she’s waiting around at the base, safe and out of danger. She doesn’t _want_ Vette to be here, to be in danger. It’s a terrible thing to wish for. It’s just that she’s scared and she’s sort of alone, and Vette is a warmth and safety and love, and she desperately wants those things right now. No wonder she isn’t a Jedi anymore. Look at her, seeking out such strong emotions. She might as well be a Sith.

“You doing alright?” Pierce asks, handing her a thermos. It’s just cool water, but it helps.

She shrugs. “Not really. Yourself?”

“Could be better,” he admits. It’s light enough she would almost call it a joke. He’s afraid too, in a different way. It’s under the surface, a buzz beneath his skin, making him angry rather than frozen. “I don’t think either of us would say this’s been a _good_ experience.”

That’s… an understatement. “I suppose not. You carried me out.”

He waits for her to follow that up with something and then when she doesn’t he confirms, “Yeah. I did.”

“How?”

“Put you over my shoulders, that’s how.”

“You know what I meant. All of us succumbed to the Dread Masters’ fear, even me. I’m a force user and I couldn’t… So how could you?”

He lights a cigarra while thinking it over. The smell of the smoke is almost comforting in its familiarity. “I figure your fear, Quinn’s fear, Gimrizh’s - it’s all a bunch of deep, psychological bullshit fear. The sort of thing that can crush you. My worst fears just aren’t that bad. And I face ‘em all the time anyway. I’ve already worked through it all. Those weird Sith can’t throw anything new at me.”

There’s no lie to his words. The way he burns in response to fear is utterly different than the shivering cold she felt, or the suffocating ice that’s wrapped around her unconscious master right now. She’s envious of it actually. It reminds her of Vette’s response to fear - to push back twice as hard.

“I admire you for that,” she says sincerely. “I really do. You have a great deal of conviction that’s deserving of respect.”

“Conviction?” He laughs, and _there_ , she can sense his thin uncertainty. “Thanks kid.”

She leans her head back so it rests against his knee, “You’re wavering on something, aren’t you? A decision that you cannot quite make, a complete understanding slipping through your mind that you cannot fully grasp. You’re worried about something, but there’s fear too, and anger, and at the heart of it, you’re not certain of yourself.”

Pierce coughs and drops his cigarra, crushing it beneath his boot. “Anyone ever tell you how creepy that trick of yours is? Downright uncanny how accurate all that rubbish was.”

“Can I help?” she offers.

“Nah.” He’s trying to protect her by turning her down, she senses. That’s kind of him. “Won’t ask you to do something that I know you’ll refuse to do.”

She thinks on it, trying to give helpful advice without actually delving deeper into his mind. “It might be useful for you to think on this. Whatever issue is clouding your focus might be resolved with time, or with new information, or perhaps it shall pass on its own. Not all issues demand outside resolution.”

He pats her shoulder gently, “Thanks. I think this isn’t one of those times.”

Her advice exhausted, they sit together in silence until, finally, Jaesa feels the Dread Masters’ influence drain away and then vanish.

“They’re gone,” she says, relieved, “I can’t sense…”

As she reaches out through the force to try and assure herself that they’re truly locked up for good, another presence becomes clear. Farther away, but brighter. A shining star in the energy field.

“Vette.”

“Hey, did you say -” She only barely hears Pierce.

Jaesa’s on her feet, running through the encampment like a woman possessed, barely sparing a thought to ensure she doesn't run into the numerous soldiers in her path. The force strings her along, pulling her towards the faint glow she senses.

Showing up here - It’s dangerous and reckless and wonderful and it’s undeniably Vette.

Through the darkness that pervade this massive cavern, it’s hard to see where Vette is, only thin beams of light and snow providing clarity. She doesn’t need to fully see, however.

Vette’s clambering down the rock face, sending gravel skidding under her boots.

Once she hits the bottom, Jaesa’s throwing herself into her arms.

“You - You came! I didn’t think you would! I thought you’d go back to the main base, where it’s safe -”

Vette doesn’t really know what’s happened, her confusion is obvious, but that doesn’t seem to matter to her. She holds on tight, letting Jaesa tremble and shake against her. “Hey, hey, I wasn’t going to let you face all that peril on your own. Took me a while though. Gimrizh wouldn’t tell me where you all were, so I had to double back to base and shake some answers out of people. I’m sorry I’m late.”

Jaesa shakes her head, “You’re right on time.”

“So. What’d I miss?

~*~

Thutrel sits, nervous and fidgeting, at Gimrizh’s side. Her, Captain Quinn, and Ensign Tram all have not yet woken up. They were exposed to the Dread Masters for the longest and apparently felt its effects most keenly. Even now that Scourge has sealed the Masters away, the influence still lingers.

That’ll be over soon. Gimrizh is waking up.

Her eyes slowly slide open, gold pupils unfocused and clouded. Then she sees him. “You… You stopped Vardri?”

“Yes,” he informs her. “I rendered him unconscious and brought him out before he could release the Masters. Unfortunately I did cause him injury, but he’s with the Imperial medics. They assure me that he will be fine. With him asleep, Scourge has pretended to be truly Sith - I wanted to remain by your side till you awoke, and otherwise I fear the soldiers would have chased me away.”

She tilts her head to the side, trying to look for someone, “Where’s Malavai?”

“Captain Quinn? Also with the medics. I’ve been told that he and Tram will be waking up shortly, but they aren’t force users, and they will shake the effects slower than you.” He offers her a canteen of water, “How are you feeling?”

“Spectacular,” she bites out, sarcasm dripping from her tone. “How… how did we get out?”

Thutrel waits for her to drink and then takes the container out of her unsteady grip, lest she spill it. “I carried the four of you out. Scourge remained behind to seal the Masters away once more, this time permanently. Lieutenant Pierce got your apprentice, Miss Willsaam, out safely as well, and she’s doing much better now that Vette has arrived.”

It takes her a very long time to finally say, “You saved me. You saved Malavai - saved all of us.”

“Yes,” he says, “It was the right thing to do.”

“I - I owe you a great debt,” she admits, reluctantly. “And don’t do that self-righteous thing were you act as though I do not, we both know I am indebted to you. You saved my life and that of the man I love. I cannot let that go unpaid.”

He bows his head, “You are remarkably honorable.”

“So many Sith are. It would do you good to see that on occasion.”

“Scourge is… helping. I have quarrel with your Order, I admit, but my issue lies at it’s heart, with the Emperor. I do not know why you are the Wrath, however, I know that the Emperor has nothing but ill intention in his plans. He will bring ruin to the galaxy - even to the very Empire he built.”

“... Is that what you would have me do to pay my debt? Abandon my post as Wrath?”

“The Emperor would kill you for it. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Oh? Someone that’s _not_ willing to use me for their own gain?” She coughs out a laugh, “How novel. I shall die as the Wrath, I know that much. Either I serve until my last breath, or until the Emperor decides I am no longer useful. The master changes, my fate remains the same.”

Thutrel wishes there was more he could do for her. As is the case with the rest of the galaxy, she will be free only when he captures the Emperor. “I can help. I will help, I promise. If the Emperor were to be taken out, you would be free to step down as Wrath. That’s - that’s my goal. I’m going to capture the Emperor.”

“No you’re not,” she says certainly. “You cannot capture the Emperor, you idiot. It’s not possible.”

It can be done. It’s apparently his fate, and while he’s hesitant to believe such things, he knows that no one is unstoppable. “You’ll see.” He stands and bows deeply from the waist, “Truly, I am glad that you are okay. If I must ask something of you in return, I will not do so out of cruelty, nor will I ask you do that which would bring harm upon yourself or those you love.”

She turns away from him as he leaves, “Go. Before anyone here finds out you’re a Jedi.”

~*~

“I need a ship,” Lord Kallig demands. “I must go to Corellia as fast as possible.”

As if Trill doesn’t have enough to deal with already. She doesn’t say that, of course. Only dead men tell Sith ‘no’. “There’s a shuttle leaving for the orbital station in twenty minutes, and an Imperial transport on route for Corellia is set to leave within the day. I suggest you catch those two ships, my lord. I’ll holo the captain to let them know you’ll be arriving.”

He nods, “Do so at once. And - And that Zabrak -”

“Lord Korribanil has already departed,” Trill informs him. “She left while you were in the medbay. Her and her crew.”

There’s a twist of anger in his brow, but he doesn’t act on it. “Good riddance, I say. And the expedition?”

“We’ve evacuated that section of Deep Prison. There’s no point anymore, not after numerous reports that the Dread Masters are permanently imprisoned now.” She passes him one of the data wafers that contains Ensign Tram’s testimony, “Apparently an unidentified Sith saved the entire expedition.”

“He wasn’t a Sith,” Lord Kallig snarls, “Whoever he was, he was working with the Hero of Tython - Thutrel Rineth. That Sith was a traitor.”

It matters little to her, the entire ordeal is over and done with. They can’t exactly undo whatever the traitor Sith did, regardless. “I’ll flag his appearance on the Imperial database. If he shows up again on Belsavis, we’ll be prepared. Although I doubt they remained here long. If I were a wanted Jedi called the ‘Hero of Tython’ I doubt I would stick around on an Imperial occupied world.”

“This one is a pacifistic moron. Who knows what he’ll do,” he grumbles, reluctantly reading through the incident reports.

Trill carefully does not think that Lord Kallig is only insulting the Jedi because he lost. She isn’t that foolish. “Likely he has more important business around the galaxy. Those ‘hero’ types often do.”

“Perhaps…” Kallig trails off, staring at the datapad.

It’s not the far more sensational narrative that Ensign Tram had to share, but a comment from one of soldiers that Trill had found and added to the main report. She watches as he rereads it and then remarks, “That’s how the traitor Sith and the Jedi got there, isn’t it? I was wondering why they weren’t stopped on their way to the Dread Masters’ cells. With the guard around the entrance, it would have been near impossible to _sneak_ in.”

He grins from ear to ear, “Well, well. Our dear little Gimrizh Korribanil snuck a traitor and a Jedi into the encampment. How… treasonous.”

Only Kallig is unaware of Lord Korribanil’s promotion. If she truly is the new Wrath, then even something as treasonous as working with a Jedi and a traitor can be explained as the will of the Emperor. Ah, Trill hates the strangeness of Sith politics. If this were entirely a military matter, it’d be far simpler. “It might be nothing. Either way, Lord Kallig, you have a shuttle to catch, do you not?”

“Of course,” he replies, “I don’t want to remain here.”

She waits until he puts the datapad back down on her desk and then says, “I sincerely apologize for the failure to release the Dread Masters, and I regret that we were unable to assist you further. If there is anything more you require before you depart Belsavis, please feel free to inform me or anyone here, my lord.”

There’s a sour twist to his lips as he leaves her office, “No, you’ve been quite helpful. Good day, Colonel Trill.”

Once he’s gone, Trill composes a holo message to Darth Baras, informing him that Lord Gimrizh Korribanil arrived on Belsavis and that she’s now departed the planet. Came, and went.

~*~

Gimrizh kneels before the Hand - she learned her lesson from Baras well. Servant One and Two say little as she reports what happened on Belsavis, although she didn’t really expect otherwise. She almost expects some sort of retribution when she informs them that she could neither defeat nor kill Scourge and is surprised when they just accept it.

They must have known from the beginning that she could not win against her predecessor. And they sent her against him anyway. Job security as the Wrath is laughable but their casual disregard for her life grinds like sand against her skin regardless. It isn’t as though she wants them to lie about how valuable she is - she knows that they’re emotionless and stiff and she is worth relatively little to them, except as a piece to play against Baras. She just wishes that she actually had a boss who would think for a moment before setting her up for failure, or potentially death.

“If you’re not…” she trails off before she gives them ideas about punishing her for failing. “Nevermind. What is my next target?”

Even though she said nothing, she thinks Servant One noticed anyway. “The key Dark Council member who opposes Baras’ attempt to be named Voice of the Emperor is Darth Vowrawn. He is spearheading the battle for Corellia, all while Baras secretly undermines him. Baras hopes to orchestrate his failure, or his death.”

That’s treason - that could lose the Empire Corellia - Gimrizh takes a deep breath and carefully asks herself if Baras would really give a damn about any of that if it meant seizing power for himself. Of course he wouldn’t. The lives lost along the way mean nothing to him. Her life never meant anything to him, her service to him, to the Empire, he didn’t care about it at all. She loves the Empire for the people in it, and Baras uses it because it can be a stepping stone on his path to power.

“The pendulum swings with Vowrawn’s weight,” Servant Two comments, unhelpfully. Not as though he’s _ever_ helpful.

As usual, it’s up to Servant One to elaborate. “Vowrawn alone holds the defiant Council Members together. Baras’ attempts to weaken his Corellia campaign must be thwarted. The Empire’s Armageddon Battalion was to be assigned to Corellia, but Baras redirected it to Hoth, where it’s strength is being wasted. General Greist commands. He must be convinced to abandon Baras’ orders and take Armageddon Battalion to Corellia.”

She’s never met this Darth Vowrawn, but the name is familiar. He oversees the Sphere of Production and Logistics, an important and dull sphere that seems to act as a catch all. Overseeing economics, supply lines, trade, a sphere more hard pressed than most during the war, except for those that actually control the military. She finds that she’s actually quite intrigued to meet whomever can multitask that well and work under that sort of pressure.

“I’ll go to Hoth right away,” she agrees.

“Resistance cannot be accepted,” Servant One warns, “Armageddon Battalion must be reassigned. Do whatever it takes to make it happen.”

She bows her head, “As you command. For the Empire.”

The holo call drops and she’s left to the silence of her own thoughts and the hum of _Horizon_ ’s engines. It’s too quiet - too empty.

Lightning sparks behind her eyelids and she wishes that she hadn’t given her crew leave. Pierce and Jaesa have gone bar hopping, Vette’s off with Malavai to resupply the ship -

“Do we have new instructions from the Hand?”

For a second, a horrible second that feels like there’s nothing more than a hollow pit inside her, she thinks it’s just another vision. But it isn’t, there’s a solid, reliable thrum in the force that lingers just outside her ability to sense. When she turns around, she even manages to put something resembling a smile on her face to mask the twitchy fear.

“You’re back early,” she says, abandoning the holo terminal in favor of standing at Malavai’s side. There’s a supply crate in his arms that she quickly grabs, “And yes, it was the Hand. We’re to head to Hoth as soon as possible and… There’s rather a lot. Assist Darth Vowrawn’s Corellia campaign, which first means moving Armageddon Battalion from Hoth to Corellia. I know you hate Hoth, but it doesn’t seem as though we’ll be there quite as long this time. It’s just convincing one man.”

He doesn’t fully let go of the crate, her hands resting over his, a warm reminder that this is reality and not an illusion. “Forgive my previous complaints, I do not mind Hoth if we are there to serve the Empire. The cold is an annoyance, nothing more. And I can take this, Gimrizh, you don’t have to bother.”

“If you’re sure.” She lets him take the supply crate and watches him drop if off in the medbay, “Can you help me program a course to Hoth?”

It’s a task she can probably do herself and she’s well aware that she’s making up excuses to be near him. From the tiny hints of relief on his face, she thinks he was about to do the same. The loneliness she felt from the Dread Masters just makes everything feel dull and cold. Her skin twinges with the memory of force lightning, real and painful despite it only being an apparition.

“Of course,” he gladly agrees.

She takes a step towards the bridge and then wavers, not moving. The words she’s trying to say are tangling on her tongue.

Malavai gently cups her cheek and tilts her head up, “Are you alright?”

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out, “I should have been there, I should have helped, I’ve known Vardri was scum who’d abandon his comrades and I let you all go anyways. And then I couldn’t even _help_. Force-damned _Thutrel_ had to save you and I know that you hate him as much as I do. It was reckless of me and I got you hurt.”

He tugs her closer when she leans in, wraps his arms around her when she tucks her head against his chest. There’s something strangely comforting about the odd beat of his heart - one instead of the double beat she hears everyday inside herself. “This was in no way your fault,” he tells her, “You have nothing to apologize for. I was the one who originally suggested that we separate for this mission, after all, and had I not failed, you would not have needed to bring the Jedi.”

“No. This isn’t on you either.”

“My mistakes placed you in danger and I can’t-”

“ _I_ made that choice. I couldn’t have left you there.”

She can hear his breath catch and then even out into something steadier. “You should not have risked yourself,” he says after a pause. “Please, I must ask that you will not do so in the future.”

The thought of leaving him to die is unacceptable. She refuses to legitimize it by giving it so much as a moment of her thought. “That’s a choice I get to make myself, Malavai. I wouldn’t have left you to the Dread Masters and I will make the same decision again. If it helps, I will try my best not to bring a Jedi along next time.”

As close as they are, he can’t hide his flinch at that last statement.

“What?” she asks, concerned, “Is it… Is it to do with what the Dread Masters showed you?”

He hugs her just a little bit tighter, “I will not do you so grave a dishonor as to give voice to their falsehoods. It’s thankfully in the past now.”

“Hm,” she hums, “Yes. It’s in the past. And none of it was real.”

~*~

Jaesa is getting slightly tipsy by the time Vette bounces into the bar to collect her girlfriend, although honestly Foris thinks the kid could have handled a few more drinks. They all need it after that Dread Master bullshit, Jaesa more than most. For her, this is just another drop in the shitty bucket, after all that rubbish she went through while he and Vette were on Nar Shaddaa, and then the bad fallout on Quesh. By now she’s earned getting completely plastered.

“Come on, babe,” Vette says lightly, gently helping Jaesa out of her bar stool and getting her to stand.

Jaesa waves it off, “I’m fine, I’m fine. I can just use the force and I’ll be sober in no time.”

There’s a green tinge to her face. Both Foris and Vette glance at each other, clearly disbelieving her. Maybe she could use the force to sober up, but she sure as shit isn’t coherent enough to do so right now. “Go to the fresher before you puke,” Foris tells her, “You’ll feel better.”

On unsteady feet, she teeters off to find a fresher while Foris signals the bartender and pays the tab. At least she’s a lightweight and he doesn’t have to fork over too many credits. Vette has cleaned out his wallet on numerous occasions.

“Thanks for looking after her.” Vette gives him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “I owe you one.”

Actually, he could use her help. She’s been here longer than anyone. Foris digs around in his pockets and pulls out a few scraps of flimsy, sliding them over the bar counter for her to read, “Can you tell me what you think of these? Just, whatever comes to mind. You’ll have more insight here than I will.”

She groans as soon as she reads the first bit, “Ugh there are numbers - please tell me there’s no math here?”

“No math,” he laughs, “I already decoded most of those sections but I haven’t a clue what any of it means. All those stupid code names for things are tripping me up.”

“Decoded? Did you… who did you decode this from?” She asks, suddenly much more suspicious. When he doesn’t answer right away, she glares at him, “What are you up to? Did Gimrizh ask you to do this? Cause I don’t see why she’d tell you to mess with Quinn’s stupid finicky filing system.” She reads over another line and then her face brightens, “Is this some lovey-dovey bullshit? Cause that’s dumb.”

That… was specific, “Hold on. I never told you that’s from Quinn’s files. Explain.”

She points to a set of lines, “So all this stuff here reads like some stupid, poorly written love poem. Which is hilarious by the way.” She peers at the notes in the margins, “Yeah the datestamps here make sense.”

“How are you seeing love poem?”

“He keeps comparing Gimrizh to a moon. How is that not the sappiest fucking bullshit you’ve ever read?”

“A moon?”

“Enceladus, look here,” she points to the one section he hadn’t been able to figure out, where Quinn keeps mentioning speaking to someone code named ‘Enceladus’. “That’s Gimrizh. This is from when we were on Alderaan, the first time. There was this thing… they were doing this nerd-flirting and mentioning how _beautiful_ this moon was and how it just _shined_ and ugh anyway it was sappy as hell, and there was totally some stargazing bullshit later when he helped her get down from a panic attack. So am I right? Is this some stupid romantic poetry bullshit cause if so I am absolutely going to hold this over captain stuffy’s head for _months_.”

Foris stares at the flimsy again, frowning at the series of seemingly useless records. “Nah. Not sure what it is, really. I’ll let you know if I figure it out though.”

She gives him a weird look and then, apparently, lets it go. “Alright. Come one, let’s get Jaesa back to the ship and tucked into bed with a tumbler of water.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Hoth, again  
> A brief note, Oren/Mako/Torian has been added to the ship list and yes, Skadge is thankfully 100% dead, which I promise will be the only semi- 'murder as fanservice' death in this story, unlike in swtor.  
> Comments? Thoughts? Let me know what you're thinking please!


	25. Bang Bang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeaahhh it's been months *shrug* sorry ya'll. Anxiety and depression is a hell of a double-whamy. Trigger warnings for this chapter: There is gun play. Not... super intense, but yeah. And non-date rape use of rohypnol.  
> Without further ado!  
> This chapter, aka: Why is Quinn always a trash fire of a human being, more Twi'lek world building than I anticipated, and probably not THE most kinky porn I've ever written.

There’s a sharp metal corner that almost pokes Gimrizh’s thumb as she removes a small piece of _Horizon_ ’s sublight engines from its base plate. The section that connects it to the power cable is faintly burnt. It needs replacing before they pull out of hyperspace. Fortunately they have a number of replacements on hand and she’s using this slight problem to learn more about the metal guts of her ship and home. “This, yes?”

“Did anything come loose during the removal?” Malavai asks as he takes the ruined part from her hands and gives her the replacement.

She shakes her head and picks up the hydrospanner, “Not a thing.”

He’s trying not to look nervous as he watches her reconnect the new part and secure the wires and cables that are supposed to be attached to it. It’s going fine and she knows that he’s confident in her abilities, only he’s usually the one in charge of the ship’s mechanics and they both are aware that she’s only partially certain of what she’s doing.

“And this?” She leans to the side so that he can see the cable she’s pointing to, “Where does this go?”

He nudges her hand towards the correct socket, “I color coordinated all the connectors. See, the cable has a red band around the edge.”

That’s a relief, she does tend to forget where everything goes afterwards. “You’re always so helpful, Malavai.” She reattaches the cables and then kisses his cheek, his stubble rough against her lips. She frowns, “When did you wake up this morning?”

“There’s much work to be completed before we arrive on Hoth,” he replies evasively, “I’m well aware of the necessary amount of sleep I need to function, you needn’t worry.”

“Get a decent amount of sleep tonight at least,” Gimrizh requests. She finishes securing the cables and pops the metallic cover plate back in with a satisfying shove. “Is that the last of the repairs?”

He consults the list he’s compiled on a datapad, “Yes, it is. You did quite well for someone who’s never been taught how to do this before, by the way. Your earlier concern was unnecessary.”

“And you managed to watch me do it without fainting from worry,” she teases.

“That was _hardly_ a possibility.”

“I know how much time and work you’ve put towards _Horizon_ ’s engines.”

“And _I_ know that you would never damage them. Regardless of whether or not it was accidental.”

Gimrizh looks at her finished work and lets herself beam with pride, if only a little.

There’s a metallic slam, the sound of the door being wrenched open violently. When Gimrizh turns around, it’s Vette that’s the culprit, standing with a tight grip on the doorframe and a datapad in her spare hand. Her presence in the force is noticeably frazzled, jumpy with both nervousness and excitement.

“Tatooine!” Vette declares, without further explanation.

Malavai glances at the both of them, “You have this very bad habit of just randomly declaring planets, so unless you are speaking in some sort of code - ”

“No, no, no!” Vette shakes her head, making her lekku dance, “We need to stop at Tatooine! Like, right now, before we pass it! I know Tatooine is on our way, right? Let me get off there!”

The last time Vette had been like this had been -

Gimrizh gasps, “You… you found your mother, didn’t you?”

Just the way Vette’s face lights up at those words tells Gimrizh she’s right. “Yeah. That bounty hunter finally got back to me! My mom’s alive, and she’s on Tatooine! I’ve sent a message to Tivva with everything I know, but I need to get there as soon as possible. And we’re on route to Hoth - Tatooine is on the way. We can stop there and… and I can see my mother. I can’t just wait for Tivva to get there, Mom’s apparently still a slave and I can’t leave her like that. Not when I’m in a position to get her out.”

Despite never knowing her own parents, Gimrizh has picked up enough through Vette to learn that she will never stand between her friend and her mother. She nods. “Alright. Malavai, can we get _Horizon_ out of hyperspace in time to let Vette off on Tatooine?”

He gives her a slight bow, a gesture that feels close to her despite the formality of it, “Of course, my lord.”

~*~

“Overseer!”

Urinth waves the acolyte to her side, already aware of the message they bring. She’s been reminded enough times in the past rotation alone, _thank you very much_. “Yes, yes,” she snaps, even though it’s hardly the acolyte’s fault. “Darth Baras is on the holo for me, isn’t he. I’m on my way, you hardly need to escort me.”

The young man awkwardly nods and lets her quickly march ahead of him, “Yes, of course, overseer. My apologies.”

Poor boy. “You’re familiar to me,” she remarks, “What class are you in?”

He scrambles to keep pace with her, “I, uh, just moved up to the Academy this year, from Institute Five. I’m under Overseer Padesh.”

“You’re a strong boy. Are you looking for an apprenticeship?”

“If anyone will take me. I don’t have a great record, and I got one-upped a year ago by this asshole in my class, and… well… I might be pureblood, but I don’t have a family name. I was going to study under Overseer Tremel, but -”

Urinth snaps her fingers, “Ah yes! I remember you now! Your face is familiar to me, I was reading through your file earlier today. Not out of interest in you, per say, but you were listed as a person of interest in another case that I’m reading through.” No wonder she barely recognized him, he’d been such a background figure in the case file. Hardly that important to her project. “Your name’s Reus, yes? Promising grades, top of your class for the past year, noticeable issues with proper emotional channeling.”

He grits his teeth at that last bit, “Yes, overseer, that’s correct. If I may ask, am I involved in something… er… that would catch the attention of the Inquisitors?”

The only case directly involving him had been wrapped up years ago. “No, of course not. You are indirectly connected to a person of interest that Darth Baras has asked me to research. Your last contact with them was over a year ago. No Inquisitor would question you in relation to this person.”

There’s a long silence that makes Urinth pause. She stretches out through the force, sensing a surprisingly hot and roiling anger in the young man. That… hadn’t been her expectation.

“So,” he says, angry and almost purring with anticipation, “Gimrizh isn’t dead after all. I knew it. I would have sensed it if she finally kicked it.”

How -

Urinth grabs him by the force and drags him into her office.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking or how you came to that conclusion, but you are speaking of highly classified matters. I’m one of the top Inquisitors in the Academy, I’ve taught here for almost thirty years, and the _only_ reason I was permitted to know was because Darth Baras personally required my services,” she informs him, hissing the words under her breath as she sets up the privacy shields for the room.

When done, she points to the holoterminal, “Now, you are going to stand there while I answer Darth Baras’ call and I am going to tell him everything and you are going to answer every question he asks.”

“Yes, overseer,” Reus agrees.

Darth Baras is on hold and she quickly picks up the call, bowing deeply as the masked figure steps into the holo field.

“Overseer Urinth, how good of you to finally get in touch,” Baras says sharply.

“I apologize for the delay, my lord,” she replies. “But we have a problem. _This_ boy, one of the connections you asked me to investigate, figured out that the former Lord Gimrizh is not as deceased as previously thought. I don’t know how, but I know you need to speak with him. This is Reus Korribanil, in the same class as she was.”

Although she can’t see Baras’ face, she can sense the way he suddenly pays close attention to the young man. “I see. That is potentially problematic.”

“He refused to inform me as to how he came to this conclusion -”

“I didn’t _refuse_!” He cuts in, “You didn’t ask! You just dragged me in here. Listen, Darth Baras, my lord, let me explain. Overseer Urinth told me that someone I last had contact with over a year ago was under your investigation. There’s only one person I know that would warrant your attention - your old apprentice, Gimrizh, whom I last saw over a year ago. I’ve been… keeping tabs on her. I figured that she was the only person that you could be investigating, and, given that I was pretty sure I’d be able to sense her die - she’s still alive. Am I wrong?”

For a moment, Urinth almost suspects Baras will order the boy silenced. Then Baras chuckles, “Well reasoned. You’re correct, by the way, she is still alive. You _are_ the one who tried to kill her multiple times during your youth, yes? I doubt I have to worry about you spilling our secrets, do I?”

Urinth remembers the young man’s file. Numerous complaints from overseers about excessive violence, recommendations for psych evaluations, concerns that the boy didn’t understand how to properly use and channel his emotions - that, like many young force users, he let himself run wild as opposed to using his head on occasion. And the damning conclusion that he might be unfit to serve as Sith, simply due to his single minded obsession and hatred for one of his classmates. Which, at an easy guess, would be Gimrizh.

“If you’re her enemy, then I won’t tell a soul,” Reus says before adding, “Besides, you _are_ a respected Sith Lord sitting on the Dark Council. You already have my allegiance. And now you have my silence as well.”

Baras slowly nods, “Very well. You may listen in on today’s conversation and afterwards I will find something to do with you. Overseer Urinth, please proceed.”

She can’t say she completely agrees with this course of action, but again, she doesn’t have to. It’s Lord Baras’ choice in the end. She’s just here to carry out his will and do her part to take down someone who betrayed the Empire.

Placing the data wafer into the holo’s reader, she sends the stack of files and security footage that she’s accumulated to Baras.

“You need my testimony as well, do you not?”

He waves her forward, “That would be most appreciated. What I have in mind requires as much physical evidence as possible.”

Urinth clasps her hands behind her back and begins, “We recovered the Jedi Quorian Dorjis about a year and a half ago, during his failed attempt to infiltrate the Academy here on Korriban. He was unarmed when we found him, although I suspected that he had hid his weapon and communicator in the tombs. As is procedure, we took him into custody in the Academy’s prison complex. Me and my fellow Inquisitors implanted false information into his mind - the goal of which would be to encourage Republic worlds near the mid rim to lower their defenses.”

“And where did Gimrizh enter the picture?”

“We needed a way to return Dorjis and his false information to the Jedi. A young acolyte staging a breakout would be the perfect way to convince him of the escape’s authenticity. I selected Gimrizh pretty much on random - she was one of the youngest acolytes here and non-human, all points that would have endeared her to Dorjis. Enclosed in the data files I’m sending is the footage of every encounter she had with him, up until right before the staged breakout, when, according to the plans, she darkened the holo cameras.”

It’s impossible to say what Baras is thinking. “Was there any indication that things did not go according to plan?”

“The planets never lowered their defences and the Republic never showed any indication of reacting to this information. I almost thought that perhaps Gimrizh informed Dorjis that the intel was false, but given that she returned to the Academy and continued into your service without suspicion, I never gave it a second look until now.”

“Thank you, Overseer,” Baras says dismissively, “That will be all. I’ll contact you if your services will be needed again.”

The holo transmission cuts out.

Urinth is almost disappointed, given the amount of time she put into compiling that much information for Baras and given that it sounds as though she’ll be kept out of the loop from here on. There’s still something she can do though.

“Reus, you mentioned that you’re looking for an apprenticeship? I think I can help you there.”

~*~

The warmth of Tatooine embraces Jaesa from the moment they step out of the spaceport and into the sand swept city of Mos Ila. As the suns overhead bake the planet, that heat also seeps into her bones and into her heart. The light breeze sweeps tiny eddies of sand across her skin, the small grains caressing her and tugging her forward, as though she’s being welcomed and drawn into the planet.

“My ride’s here.” Pierce slings his bag over his shoulder and tilts his head towards one of the speeders sitting outside the spaceport. “Don’t want to keep Tanido waiting. Need anything before I go?”

Vette shakes her head without really looking at him, her eyes focused off into the distance. Her presence in the force strains towards the city, towards where her mother must be, as if the two are seeking each other out through the energy field. Jaesa takes her hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“We’re all good over here. Enjoy this giant dust bowl of a planet,” Vette says, giving him a mocking two-fingered salute. “We’ll com if we need anything.”

“Alright. Don’t get too baked in this heat.” With that, Pierce heads off, hoping into a military speeder and flashing his ID at the droid pilot. After a minute in which credit chips are exchanged, the speeder pulls away from the landing platform and off through the streets of Mos Ila, bound for the Imperial Outpost in Mos Anek. Jaesa hopes that during this time Pierce can reconnect with his old friend - and that he can deal with all of the emotional turmoil she’s been sensing from him lately.

Vette starts to slowly wander towards the slave quarters in the city, drawn towards her mother but hesitant.

Perhaps it’s the years they’ve spent apart weighing her down. Jaesa tries to lean in closer, comfort her. “How are you?”

“It’s been so long,” Vette tells her. “Do you think she’ll even recognize me?”

Jaesa wishes she had better advice for Vette. But her parents know who she is and she can meet with them and speak with them whenever she’s in Kaas City. Her mother might resent her just a little for choosing the Empire, but they’re both alive and they both love her. She’s never had to question her parent’s love and care for her. “I think she will. Even if she does not however, you know that it’s because you’ve been forced apart. Not because she doesn’t care about you.”

“Yeah, I know. I just… I feel like it’d be fair if she doesn’t love us anymore. We’ve been gone so long. Me and Tivva just… haven’t been there with her.” Vette’s hand tightens around Jaesa’s. “I know she’s our mother, and I can sort of remember her loving us, but - well - distance doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder, I guess.”

“You’re over thinking a scenario that’s unlikely to happen,” Jaesa calmly reminds her.

It seems like Vette had just been waiting for confirmation of that outside her own mind. Her emotional current steadies a little bit and some of her usual confidence returns. The bravado is only a little bit false.

Vette shrugs, running a finger nervously around the edge of her headpiece. “You’re right.”

They fall silent after that. Vette tugs Jaesa along through the city, a half-step ahead and with her mind focused on her mother.

Footsteps get heavier as they enter the slave quarters. The city here is more cramped, packed together little houses, tall and skinny, pressed right up against one another. Given how hot and dry Tatooine is, Jaesa can’t help but think that must be a fire hazard. It’s hardly as though there would be plenty of water available to douse any errant blazes. Sure though, she can even see tiny chimneys sticking out of some terracotta roofs, although none are smoking given the hot hour.

Scant few people are milling the streets in this part of town compared to the busy hub that is the rest of Mos Ila. It’s one of the hottest parts of the day, and also likely during work times. She begins to wonder if they’ll have to go to Whuddle the Hutt’s offices to find Vette’s mother. The changes that the woman will still be indoors so late are low.

Vette has apparently also spotted this problem, wavering between glancing at doors and at her feet. “Maybe we should… wait for her to get home?”

“I think we should ask someone who lives with her, first.”

“Oh. Yeah. Good idea.”

Back on _Horizon_ , Vette wrote down which house her mother resides in on a piece of scrap. Now, she uncurls her fist to reveal a sweat torn remnant of flimsy that’s barely readable at all and squints at her own handwriting.

“It’s a little further up,” she says, quickly moving down the street to a clump of houses on the right.

Vette tries to shove the scrap back into her pocket but her hands are shaking and she drops it into the sand instead. It’s not just her fingers, small nervous shakes run through her whole body and through her presence in the force.

The door they stop at is part of a five story high quarters building. There’s a small marker next to it written in Huttese, proclaiming this residence to be owned by Whuddle the Hutt. They’re in the right place then.

“What if she got amnesia and can’t remember that she ever had daughters?” Vette blurts out, her hand an inch above the door, ready to knock. She drops her hand, “Or if she -”

Jaesa knocks.

“Eep.” Vette tries shoving her hands in her pockets, smoothing down her lekku, and brushing the sand off her clothes all in a two second time span.

A middle aged Zabrak yanks the door open and stares at them, “Excuse me?” she says flatly, as though she’s annoyed at them for being there. Jaesa supposes it’s so obvious that the two of them aren’t slavers that the women feels perfectly at home being rude. “Can I help you? Are you lost?”

Vette does this thing with her hands as if trying to communicate through sign language, “Um? No? I don’t think so?”

“Are you looking for someone?” the woman asks.

“Yes!” She points at her own face, “She’d look sort of like me, but older? I’m looking for my mom. Her given name was Kresh’ne and she went by Deck?”

The woman’s face doesn’t exactly soften, but it does get slightly less mean looking, “Oh, Deck. Yes. You’re her…”

“Daughter,” Vette fills in, “I’m her daughter, Vette. Er, she might have called me Ce’na, that was my given name and I only picked Vette after we lost contact. She might have talked about Tivva, too? Tivva’s my sister. I, um - I hired a bounty hunter to find Deck and he said this is where she’s living, that she’s owned by Whuddle. Is she… is she in, or is she working right now…?”

The woman steps out of the doorway to let them inside, “And you are?”

“I’m Jaesa. I’m Vette’s…” Jaesa gets a nod from her lover to continue, “I’m her girlfriend.”

She gestures them into the small hallway, “I’m Zahar’urs. I was only recently sold to Whuddle the Hutt, so I must tell you that I don’t know of you, and haven’t heard of you from Deck. Frankly, I didn’t even know she had children.”

“She doesn’t talk about us?” Vette asks, only the slightest bit heartbroken.

“If you lose your children like that, to slavers, it would have hurt her. People don’t talk about what hurts them,” Zahar’urs says, very matter of fact. “Can I… get you two some cold milk? It’s the hottest part of the day.”

Jaesa bows her head slightly out of respect, “That would be lovely, thank you.”

The woman shows them into a tiny kitchen off the hall. It’s a conservator and a few chairs, really, with a stove that’s seen better days. She gets a jug of blue cold milk from the conservator and pours two glasses, placing the tumblers in front of them. Jaesa frowns at the woman’s force presence. She’s… worried. Not for herself, but for Vette. Concerned, too. Saddened, but it’s a few emotions removed from everything else, like an older and personal wound. Something’s wrong and Jaesa can’t quite see what it is.

“You mentioned you were sold to Whuddle recently, have you been on Tatooine long?” Jaesa asks, stalling for a reason that she can’t fully figure out yet.

Zahar’urs is taken aback, “Lived here for the past thirty years. Just had a different owner.” She jerks her head towards Vette, “What about you?”

“I’m not a slave,” Vette replies immediately.

“Really? You don’t have a collar, but you’re a Twi’lek and this part of Tatooine is run by Imperials and Hutts.”

“I’m not _from_ Tatooine. I’m from _Ryloth_ \- er, originally anyway. Now I’m not from anywhere, but I’ve been freed for over a year now. I’m _not_ a slave anymore. I’ve _not_ been a slave for most of my life, _actually_.”

“... My mistake. How did you get into Mos Ila if you’re not a Hutt slave then?”

“You’re very suspicious.”

“And you’re a random couple of strangers one of whom is claiming to be Deck’s long lost daughter.”

“Point taken. Listen, Deck can prove it for you. Where is she? We can wait for her somewhere else if you don’t want us here, I get that.”

The room feels colder and Jaesa suddenly wishes they hadn’t come here. Zahar’urs sighs wearily. “Sorry kid, I’m no good at this and there’s no nice way of putting this. Deck died yesterday. You just missed her.”

Vette stops - everything about her, down to her presence in the force just stops for a moment as though she’s trying to reboot. “But. But I-”

“Overwork,” the woman tells them, “Long hot days without any break from the suns will do that to a person. I’ve got her body in the cold room downstairs, we’ve been storing it till cremation tomorrow. We thought we should look for a next of kin first. That would be you, I suppose. Or your sister, if you want to find her and bring her here.”

“She’s… in the cold room?”

Oh stars, Vette’s emotions are are crumbling, and the pain is in Jaesa’s head - her heart aches for Vette, she longs to alleviate her love’s suffering and at the same time she can feel Vette’s emotions through the force as though they were her own. It’s a feedback loop crashing against her.

“Vette?” Jaesa gently rubs her shoulders, trying to give both comfort and support, “Deep breaths, love.”

Slowly Vette follows her advice, bringing herself back from the brink of hyperventilating. “I’m - no actually I’m not okay.” She can’t look Zahar’urs in the eye but she manages a decent approximation of that, fixing her gaze on the woman’s nose. “I… I need to see her - Deck - her body. Please.”

Zahar’urs jerks her head towards the staircase, “Down there.”

~*~

Although Malavai has never liked the creeping, insidious cold of Hoth, he decides that it’s made more bearable with Gimrizh.

“Slinte,” she suggests, leaning against him ever so slightly, radiating warmth. A few officers pass them by in the halls of Dorne base and she lowers her voice a tad until they’re out of sight. “He’s stupid enough to give us the information we need. And he didn’t have much of a backbone, I could intimidate him until he’d tell us whatever we ask.”

It’s a good idea, but he has reservations. “It’s a risk - we don’t know what information he has, or whether he’s been contacted by Baras already. Especially given that Baras is likely now aware of your survival.”

“You’re thinking Slinte might sabotage us?” she asks. “I wouldn’t have guessed he has the guts for that.”

From what he remembers of the incompetent man, he’d guess similarly. “It’s still a risk.”

“True,” she agrees, “What would you suggest?”

If they don’t want to risk Baras discovering that they’re here then they shouldn’t go through personnel, at least not in Dorne base. Obviously they’ll have to if Gimrizh is to convince General Griest to move Armageddon Battalion, but it’s best not to chance it at the base, where Baras is more likely to have agents. “Imperial bases usually allow any registered officer to access the system - with according levels of clearance. If I can access the system at any level, it would be easy to slice the information we need. That would be breaking into our own security however.”

“We’re already working against a Dark Council member, I doubt slicing a computer terminal will be that big a deal on our list of crimes,” Gimrizh remarks humorlessly.

That’s… an excellent point. “Then all I need is uninterrupted access to a computer terminal.”

She gestures to the numerous offices around them, “Pick one. I’ll stand menacingly behind you and glare at anyone who tries to come in.”

“You can be quite intimidating when you put your mind to it, my lord,” he comments, slicing the lock on a nearby door and letting them in. It’s a private office with a new terminal, made particularly new in comparison to the rest of Dorne base. Imperial funding is regulated as it’s needed, but as Hoth is currently locked in stalemate, the planet doesn’t require as much money as, say, Corellia.

It’s simple to enter the Imperial system and after a quick browse through the database he concludes that his original assessment was correct. His standard security clearance isn’t enough to access General Greist’s location. A more invasive, and far more illegal method will be required. After all the times he’s done this, he shouldn’t still have reservations about it.

Gimrizh gently lays her hand over his, “We can find another way if you wish. I know that it’s still difficult for you to go against the Empire like this.”

“It’s as you said,” he replies, purposefully punching in the command codes to run a slicing program. “Baras is going against the Emperor- the Empire. Defeating him does not make _us_ traitors.”

Maybe after they finally kill Baras, he might fully believe that.  

She leans down and softly kisses him. It’s comforting, the warmth of her lips and the way she leans in - as though for this one moment, nothing else in the galaxy exists to her. That single-mindedness is soft and welcoming and also terrifyingly heavy. She has decided to care for _him_. It’s both a gift and a challenge that he must live up to. He has to be worthy of her affections. And it’d break his heart if he let her down.

“We’ll get through this,” she reassures him.

He’d laugh at that, if it weren’t horribly rude. “Do you believe that?”

“I try to. If we can get through all of Baras’ tricks and spies and plots - get to where I can actually face him in single combat… I can theoretically win.”

“In all my years serving the Empire,” he tells her sincerely, “I have never seen anyone who fights like you. I have faith in your capabilities. If you face Baras…” Would she kill him? Could she? Malavai has never seen Baras take up a lightsaber. The sith’s skills have never appeared to lean towards combat but how can he be _sure_? “I am confident that you will prevail.”

The system lurches slowly forward and he continues to direct it as needed.

Quietly, as though whispering some terrible secret, she admits, “I can’t imagine a scenario in which I win. How would I do it? How do I reach that point where I am standing above him, with a lightsaber to his throat?”

“I can’t answer that for you. What would you do?” he asks, and then hates himself for asking because he shouldn’t care. “If you win, I mean. Would you kill Baras?”

It takes her a while to answer. “I… I don’t see how I couldn’t. I’ve killed people who were less of a threat to me - Sith who were less of a threat to me. Leaving Baras to rot in prison would be a mistake, even though I could justify it. He _does_ have a wealth of information from his various spies.”

“Are you hesitant to kill _him_ , or to kill your former master?”

“Both? Neither? I’ve never given a damn about him like that, I knew from the moment I became his apprentice that I couldn’t trust him, I never even wanted him to know anything about me but - I have always wanted to be Sith. Desperately, and with blind focus. For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to serve the Empire and the Sith Order. Under Baras, I thought I _was_ serving the Empire. I hate him for that, if nothing else. But for a long time I was under the illusion that if I could secure a small place under him, with no intentions to rise above that - then I would have some measure of safety.”

“And killing him breaks that?”

“It was never there to begin with - I know that now.”

“I’m sorry.” Her hand is still over his. He runs his thumb over her palm before bringing her hand to his lips. “I am so sorry.”

She laughs - shaky, but still a laugh. “You keep apologizing, Malavai, and yet it’s not your fault. I feel safe with _you_. You have no idea how much of a help you’ve been.”

Tell her - don’t tell her. Lie to her - break her again.

“Do we have the information yet?” she asks, clearing her throat.

He blinks, trying to snap himself out of that train of thought, and looks back at the terminal screen. The program has finished - he’s in the system. It only takes a moment to dig through the database after that. “General Griest and Armageddon Battalion have been given orders to hold a series of caves not too far from here. The Republic forces near them are almost nonexistent - maybe a scouting party that would attack.”

“Easy enough to handle,” she replies, shrugging casually.

For her, most things are. He doubts that anything the Republic would throw at them here could stand up to her prowess with a lightsaber.

He deletes the record of his computer session and makes sure there's no trace of the slice. “I have the coordinates. It’s near enough to take a speeder most of the way. Shall we depart?”

~*~

Vette loves her sister dearly. It’s not anything like how she loves Jaesa or how she loves Gimrizh, it’s an older love. A deep love that’s burned into her heart. Even if she tried, she doesn’t think she could ever stop loving Tivva. But as much as she loves her sister, she doesn’t always agree with her.

“I agree with you that this can’t continue but I don’t think sauntering into Whuddle’s palace and starting a massacre is the right way to do things,” Vette says. Her head is sinking into her hands, tired and exasperated and sad to a bone-deep level. It isn’t as though she doesn’t understand where her sister is coming from, it’s just that she doesn’t think going on a killing spree will solve their problems. It certainly won’t bring their mother back.

The three of them are still in Zahar’urs’s tiny kitchen. The zabrak has long since retreated upstairs to let them be and Jaesa is quietly sipping a cup of blue milk, not contributing anything except comfort as needed.

Tivva paces back and forth, “So you think that we should do nothing? Our mother was _murdered_ and you think we shouldn’t seek retribution?!”

“First of all,” Vette replies, wearily, “She died of heat stroke. Secondly, you’re talking about going on a murder rampage through a Hutt’s palace. We’d be killing more people than just Whuddle - people who might never have owned a slave in their lives, _innocent_ people.”

“We’d just go in and take Whuddle out - it’s not a rampage.”

“You’ve never done this before. I _have_. There’d be guards, there’d be security droids, pirates, smugglers - dozens of people to get past, and while we could fool our way past some of them we couldn’t do it all the way to Whuddle. And if we did? We’d still have to fight our way out. I won’t risk some innocent person getting caught in the crossfire.”

Tivva throws up her hands, “So we do _nothing_ then, that’s your solution?”

“We give her a proper funeral. We mourn.” Vette wishes that there could be some fancy solution, some great way to fix this problem, but she just can’t see it. Her sister’s warlike rage is understandable, but Vette’s own grief has smothered any fires she herself might have tried to start. “That’s my solution.”

Tivva deflates. “A funeral.”

The thought is a hard one. It barely meshes with reality.

“Yeah. A funeral.”

In a room this small, the silence is so thick it almost chokes them. Jaesa clears her throat and quietly offers, “If you need… anything, I can help. And I’m sure if we com Master Gimrizh, she can lend assistance as well. The two of you aren’t alone in this.”

“Thank you, but…” Tivva struggles to explain, “You aren’t a Twi’lek. You wouldn’t know what to do.”

Vette elaborates, “It’s not that you couldn’t learn what to do - it’s just that it’s not something outsiders are supposed to do. You could say the words, do the actions, but you wouldn’t be feeling them like we would.” She turns to her sister, “Is there…?”

“Yeah,” Tivva nods, “There’s some mountains nearby. Should do it.”

“Okay. Yeah, that… Zahar’urs said that - that -” Deep breaths. She can do this. “She said that they were going to cremate the body anyways. So… we don’t have to arrange that ourselves. Apart from that…”

That’s it, really. Ryloth funeral rites aren’t expensive and don’t require much. A side effect of a culture where half it’s people are enslaved. In a way, a lot of Twi’leks find their final freedom in death.

“Right. Okay.” Tivva stops pacing, “I’m… I’m going to speak to Zahar’urs about the arrangements.”

On that stiff note, she slowly flees the room, heading up the stairs to the portion of the house where the older woman has been lurking. With her sister gone, Vette feels like she should be able to break down - she doesn’t need to keep a mask on, doesn’t need to be strong for Tivva’s sake or because there’s a stranger nearby. She should be able to cry.

Her eyes are bone dry. She just feels tired.

Sensing her emotions, Jaesa stands up and puts her arms around Vette. “It’ll be okay,” she says quietly. The warmth of her body almost reaches Vette. “I’m here. You’re not alone. You can deal with this at your own pace, in your own way. If you want to cry, then cry. If you don’t, then don’t. Your grief is real, let it run its course.”

“Thank you,” Vette says, her voice scratchy. “ _Thank_ you, Jaesa.”

~*~

Two kinda shitty beers are spread out over the table, along with a giant map of the Bastion’s defences. A couple of random objects - salt shakers, a lightpen, a data chip, a ball of lint from Tanido’s pocket - act as tokens across the map. The black ops team are represented by a series of different sized peanuts.

“We’d have to take down the security system first,” Tanido’s saying, spinning a fork absently in his hand, “So, we’d need to be _here_.” He points. “Or, well, Arlos needs to be there. _We_ can be somewhere else, if we have to.”

Foris frowns at the map, willing it to make more sense than it does, “South entrance, maybe. Trigger an alarm by the north entrance, wait for the guards to leave.”

“Uh.” Tanido blinks at him, “North is closest to the pub reinforcements. Not sure they’d believe an attack could get through their own backup - and they could always holo whoever they’ve got stationed outside to confirm.”

“Right. Damn.” He points to a series of synth-sugar packets, “So if this battalion is stationed - “

“Slicers, boss, slicers. The packets represent the potential enemy slicers.”

Foris practically snarls at the map. It made sense a minute ago. He needs to get his krething head screwed back on because they have limited time to plan this attack, now that they’ve gotten the green light on operations. He can’t keep being this out of it. While his team is a damn good team, they need him as much as he needs them.

“Shit. My bad. Maybe I need more time to think this damn thing over.”

There’s a cooler of beer sweating in the corner and Tanido gets up to toss him one, grabbing a second for himself. Foris pops the cap off against the edge of the table and takes a long sip. He’s not the biggest fan of beer, prefers anything that tastes of fruit or more alcohol, but the coldness is welcome on Tatooine and he won’t insult Tanido’s favorite drink in his friend’s own home.

“You sure you’re okay?” Tanido asks cautiously, “I’m not going to pry into your business, but something’s up with you.”

Is it even worth it to mention this to Tanido? Foris sighs, takes another thoughtful sip, and then figures it’s not like Tanido’s ever going to mention this to anyone else. “Remember how I said I was digging up dirt on that captain that works in my crew?”

Tanido winces and rubs at his temples, “The one who’s stuff you broke in, sliced, and the one who’s sleeping with your deathly sith boss? Yeah. Yeah I remember.”

“I think…” Damn, it hurts to admit it, “I might have been wrong. Still think I’m right, but…”

His friend waves him forward, “What caused your uh… change of heart?”

“Took the work I’d done on cracking his codes to another member of the crew - not the sith. Vette. She’s a good sort, and she’s been there since the beginning. Joined the crew first, when it was just her and the sith. Anyway, she thought it was something completely different. And… well… if I take all this to the boss - and there’s not a lot of it, not a lot of solid proof - it’d hurt her. It’d hurt her more than I want to hurt her.”

“But you still think your hunch is right?”

“Yeah, I do. Or it was, anyway.”

Tanido plops down backwards in one of the chairs and fiddles with a datachip representing battle droids.

“Could have been that I was right at first,” Foris thinks, “Maybe he was a traitor and isn’t now? If I didn’t know better, I’d honestly say he loves the boss, but… Things don’t look good for him and I swear he’s hiding something.”

It take a minute for Tanido to reply to that, and when he does, it’s like a bolt of lightning to Foris. “You know… and you can’t tell Arlos I told you this, but you know why he sliced his own ID when he entered the military?”

“Cause he was about ten years too goddamn young,” Foris chuckles. Arlos is good, really good, but he was a scrawny teenager when he started working in the field. The only reason he’s the youngest ever member of black ops is cause he needed those grunt years behind him and he started too damn young.

“Yeah…” Tanido hesitantly agrees, “And cause he was born on Tython.”

Foris’s mouth drops open a little. “He was what now.”

“I didn’t ask who his parents were, or how he left, or why, but his record for the Empire is clean as anything. You worked with him for years. You _still_ work with him. He a traitor?”

“No. Course not - he’s… Arlos is a decent fucking soldier and I have nothing but respect for him, that’s not going to change just cause of this.”

Tanido shrugs, “People aren’t now what they used to be. Cut people a bit of slack for who they were. Judge ‘em for what they are. Sorry if that sounds dumb, but, well… If all I knew about Arlos was his past, I probably wouldn’t trust him as far as I can throw him. My advice? See what this captain does now. Judge him on that.”

It’s… actually good advice. If poorly delivered.

“Why didn’t Arlos tell the rest of us this?”

“Honestly? I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. After a while in the military, he just needed to tell someone. He was a kid at the time, after all.”

“Ah,” Foris nods. “Well. I won’t spill his secrets. Not if he’s put that behind him.”

There’s an actual giant fucking grin on Tanido’s face now, “You’re a good boss, boss. Now, this map?”

“Right. So, back to the problem with the north entrance -” Foris’s holo rings. “Ugh, give me a sec.” He digs through his pockets and pulls the disc out, grumbling as he accepts the call, “Sup?”

It’s Vette. “I - Could you…” She wrings her hands, “Could you come? I… there’s a problem…”

Something has gone terribly wrong, he knows it. “Shit.” He grabs his bag, slinging it over his shoulder and scooping up everything of his from the table, “Yeah, hold on kid, I’ll be right there. Give me… less than three hours.”

~*~

Mount Enek is a craggly spire of white-red rock that juts out of the Tatooine sands like it was thrown down from the sky and struck the earth. It stands tall above the other mountains in the area, baking in the suns’ rays. An offset to the heat is the wind, whipping around the mountaintop, blasting the rocks smooth and bare.

Tivva and Vette stand in the center of the moutaintop, and in the center of the two of them, clasped in their hands, is a round, black urn.

Even the wind doesn’t quite explain the chill Jaesa feels. It’s settled in her heart, a cold that gets more intense when she looks at the sisters. Pierce has his hand around hers, the heat of his skin helping to ground her, keep her from getting swept up in the emotions she can feel through the force. While Master Gimrizh had been too far away to attend and too busy to inform, the lieutenant had dropped his prior engagement and come running.

“I…” Vette begins, her voice cracking, “I name myself Vette, born Ce’na, daughter of Deck, born Kresh’ne.”

Tivva’s voice is stronger, more confident, more _angry_. “I name myself Tivva, daughter of Deck, born Kresh’ne. May she find freedom in the storm -”

“And may the Great Winds guide her home,” Vette finishes.

She dips her hand into the urn and comes out with a shaking handful of ashes, Tivva doing the same a moment after. They both open their fists and let the wind blow away the ashes into the Tatooine sky.

Again, into the urn and out into the sky. It takes them both five more times before all of their mother is scattered away.

Then they smash the urn against the earth, grinding the dust of that into pieces that are quickly dispersed by the wind as well. Some ashes might have stuck to the inside of the urn, and they must send their mother off completely. Jaesa can feel the wavy determination of Vette, the surety that she is giving her mother a proper send off - that this is the best and last thing she can do for her as a daughter.

There’s a long moment of silence as the two sisters watch the movements of the breeze, and then Vette quietly says, “Thank you, Pierce. You didn't have to come.”

“Course I did,” he replies with a shrug, “You okay?”

She shrugs back, “I will be. Let's get out of here. Tivva?”

Her sister is still, almost like a statue, rigid and unmoving. Tivva just stares off into the sky, as if she’s trying to pick the ashes out with her eyes, catch her last few glimpses of her mother. The blinding white of her coat flashes as it ripples in the wind. “I’ll follow in a few minutes,” she says at last, “You can head down without me.”

As she requests, they leave Tivva to stare off into the Tatooine desert.

Once they are far enough down the mountainside as to not be heard, Jaesa gently takes Vette’s hand and asks, “If you don't mind my intrusive question, is there a reason you're angry at your sister?”

Frustration, annoyance - the only emotions she can sense radiating from Vette other than that deep empty sadness. Jaesa’s almost glad that there’s something beyond the emptiness now, although she wishes it were a happier emotion. Vette deserves all the happiness in the world, and it's a cruel twist of the force to deny her it.

For a bit, Vette struggles to give voice to get thoughts, taking a while to properly word what she's feeling. “Tivva… she was wearing white.”

Jaesa’s never worn funeral blacks before. This overt show of mourning isn't quite in line with the Jedi doctrine, although the rare funeral is held and participants are expected to show up in pure white. And she’s been lucky enough not to need to wear sure dark clothes during her service to the Sith. Until now, of course. She's never been to a funeral before now. But Vette had asked her to wear dark colors and she had of course complied without asking.

“And she should have worn black?” Jaesa confirms, not quite getting the anger.

“Black,” Vette informs her, “isn't really a mourning color for Twi’leks like it is for humans. It's the color of the night, of the darkness that covers escapes, that runaway slaves have hid in for centuries. It's the color of freedom.”

Freedom through death.

She continues, “It started through prayer flags, Mother always said. Different colors and things having different meanings - meanings the slavers could never figure out. Meanings outsiders didn't get. Black for freedom, red for danger, blue for safe passage.”

“And white?” It's Pierce that asks this time.

“You have to _try_ to get white. It's a hard color to make. Gets dirty in a second. Can't keep white around if you’re doing slave work. It means… anger. Revenge. A reckoning. Something that isn't going to be quelled. It means Tivva wants to start a forcedamned war with the Hutts and we can't - we can't. It's stupid and reckless and she's just going to get herself killed after doing nothing but killing a bunch of random people on a Hutt’s payroll because she _can't_ get close enough to Whuddle. She's no fighter.”

“And?” Pierce prompts.

“And she's doing it in Mother’s name!” That snaps her. Jaesa can finally sense feelings flowing back into Vette just as tears start to flow out of her love’s eyes. “She wants to go on this stupid righteous crusade and she's acting like it's for Mother, but it's not, it's for her! She wants this damn warpath and she's using Mother’s name and memory to justify it! Mother wouldn't have wanted Tivva to die in her name!”

Jaesa lets Vette sink into her arms. “It’ll be okay,” she says softly as Vette cries herself out, “We won’t let Tivva die.”

“How?” Vette demands, buying her face into Jaesa’s chest, “We can’t stop her. She’s already said she’s going to stay on Tatooine for a while.”

And they can’t physically stop her unless they also stay on Tatooine - which isn’t a possibility with their highly mobile lifestyle. “Then you call her. Every week, twice a week. Holo her every day if you have to. And you tell her that you love her. That your mother loved her. That neither of you want to see her be hurt.”

“But - but what if she’s right? What if we _should_ go try and kill Whuddle?”

Pierce casually shrugs, “We could do it. You, me, Jaesa, and your sister. Give her a blaster and let her know which end to point at people and we’d probably make it out just fine. If you wanted to, you know you could.”

“We’re _not_ ,” Vette insists, almost before realizing what she’s saying, “I’m not going to shoot up a Hutt palace even if Whuddle deserves it. We don’t know who we’d kill in the crossfire - innocent people, blastermen just trying to keep their families fed, even other slaves that just got caught up in it. _That’s_ what’s wrong. But Tivva doesn’t see that. She doesn’t see the people.”

“She’s too big picture. You’re too little picture,” Pierce says, aiming for teasing but Jaesa’s not sure he knows it’s the wrong time for that.

Vette takes the handkerchief Jaesa offers her and dabs at her eyes, “She’s too _angry_.”

He doesn't dispute this. “Trouble with angry people is that often you can't do a whole lot to make ‘em not angry. Just got to let the anger run its course.”

“It's weird when you're the source of advice,” Vette comments, trying to bring back some of her usual self.

Pierce shrugs, “If it were up to me, I'd keep in mind that you tracked Tivva down once. If she starts pulling some stupid shit to get herself killed, you can get a bounty hunter to knock her out and drag her back to _Horizon_.”

At that remark, a weak laugh escapes Vette. “I wouldn't do that. But it's nice to see your advice sound like you again.”

For a brief moment, Jaesa reaches out through the force, her presence gently touching Tivva’s before she recoils. It would be rude, a violation, to read Tivva without permission. Since she and Master Gimrizh created their bond through the force, she’s aware of the fear and discomfort that her master went through when Jaesa used her power on her during their first meeting. Nomen Karr used her to hurt others. Now she knows, but it's a hard habit to unlearn.

“So if Tivva’s staying, how long are you going to stay here for?” Pierce asks.

“Oh, we’re leaving today, don't worry,” Vette reassures him. None of them are partial to Tatooine. “I've got to say my goodbyes, thank Zahar’urs, and then we can head to Hoth to meet up with the boss.”

There’s a strange hesitation in the lieutenant, that same emotional knot he’s been worrying over for a long while now. But regardless, he agrees.

~*~

“I know I said that Hoth can have a certain beauty to it, but I'm beginning to agree with you more now that I'm knee deep in snow,” Gimrizh acquiesces.

The two of them are wading through a snow bank, taking advantage of the nighttime darkness to sneak Armageddon Battalion through the Hoth wilderness and any Republic scouts that might think they can get the drop on what’s basically a supply caravan but with people instead of loot. To be frank, she’d prefer a faster pace back to Dorne Base. They’re carrying a lot of gear and equipment - the sort of thing that could look like an easy mark to a group of overeager pub scouts.

Malavai lowers the night vision macrobinoculars he'd been using to check their route. “At least we shall be back to base soon - I'm sure an insulated building would improve your opinion of this place again.”

And she thought he hated this planet. “Are you coming to like Hoth?” She teases.

“Most certainly not, my lord,” he quickly replies. “But since we are assigned here for the time being, and given your irrational appreciation for this world, I can tolerate it.”

She smiles through the cold, snowflakes catching on her lips as she does so. “How magnanimous of you.”

There's a silent commotion as the entire battalion suddenly hits the ground. Behind them, she can see General Griest give the ambush signal.

The two of them drop to their knees, using the large ice wall to their left as cover.

“As expected,” Malavai comments, only slightly bitter. “Republic scouts.”

Gimrizh palms both her lightsaber hilts. It's an inconvenience to be attacked like this, but at the end of this, they'll be victorious without a good deal of effort. Those scouts have no idea who they’re trying to get the jump on. Part of her almost feels bad for them. If they'd known in advance that a Sith would be guarding the battalion, they probably wouldn't have approached.

“I suppose it was too much to hope they’d just pass us by.”

Griest runs to their position, keeping low. A blaster shot slices less than an inch above his head before he skids into the snow next to them. “We have the numbers to take them out,” he says quickly.

It shouldn't have to come to an all out brawl like that.

“You saw that shot, General,” Malavai tells him, “If they engaged, they must think they can hold their own. We’re dealing with a group of snipers - if we try to flank them, we’re likely to lose many of our own men.”

And they don't have the high ground. If they try to counter-snipe, they’d have worse visibility.

Griest loads an ammunition pack into a hand blaster. “What do you suggest then? We’ve had rather enough of sitting and waiting lately, if you don't mind me saying so, my lord.”

“How well can they see us through the ice?” She asks.

Griest shrugs, “Probably not well. This much ice wouldn't give great visibility on our heat signatures.”

It's beautiful to see that glint enter Malavai’s eyes as he catches on to her plan. “So they’re probably using regular goggles, set to allow more light in given how dark it is and the accuracy of that shot just now.”

“It'd take them a moment to fix that, wouldn't it?” She replies.

“A few seconds, yes. Would you need more than that, my lord?”

“Hmm… No, I doubt I will. Not if the General can get some of his men ready with sniper rifles to take advantage of my - let's call it a distraction. If the pubs are so focused on me, they won’t be able to get clean shots off on our men.”

Griest clears his throat awkwardly. “No offense, my lord. But I'm uncertain if letting yourself get shot at is really the best solution here. You aren't exactly wearing armor, and a Sith Lord is more valuable that a few of my soldiers - more valuable than me, often times.”

“If all goes well,” she assures him, “they won't see me coming.”

“We have about four minutes and twenty three seconds until sunrise, my lord,” Malavai reminds her.

Right. Time is of the essence. “General, prepare your men.”

Griest glances over his shoulder to the faint hint of pink staining the mountains behind them. “The sun will be in their eyes. That's so krething basic it’s brilliant.”

“They tried to get the drop on us - they're impatient and think we're an easier target than we look,” Gimrizh explains. “If they’re so focused on trying to pop our heads the moment we jump out from behind this ice ridge, they won't be focusing on something as seemingly basic as the approaching morning.”

“Good thing the Republic’s manned by a bunch of idiots,” Griest mutters as he gives a silent hand signal to the battalion.

Malavai pauses in the middle of drawing his own blaster. “Pardon me for saying so, sir, but the Republic scouts over there aren't idiots. They miscalculated primarily due to lack of information - they don't know we have Lord Gimrizh. Underestimating the enemy just results in failure.”

“The Captain is right,” Gimrizh agrees. “I've met many clever and vicious enemies in the Republic.”

Griest shrugs it off, “Sorry, my lord. You're right of course. The Republic is just an easy enemy to hate.”

“Then hate them on the battlefield. Get ready. We’ve got a deadline to meet, after all.”

The General moves back to his men, grabbing a large rifle from one of the supply droids and setting the tip of the barrel up right below the edge of the ice wall.

Even as slight a movement as that triggers another Republic blaster bolt that nearly takes hair off the General’s head. For the first time, Gimrizh feels suddenly grateful for her own short stature.

“General, how far away were the scouts?” She asks, unclipping her lightsabers from her belt.

“Just over a hundred meters, my lord. They would have retreated a bit, if anything. Wouldn’t make sense for them to advance when they think they have us trapped here.”

She can do that. Easily.

It is a bit of a distance though. She slowly backs up, crouching low and making sure to keep her head down. Given how quickly the pubs tried to get a shot off on Griest, she doesn’t want to risk her own neck and get her horns damaged again. Last time, her three middle horns grew in only partially and it hurt a great deal. She’s not going to get injured like that on account of some damn insignificant Republic scouts.

With a quick glance at the distance between her and the ice wall, she asks, “Quinn, can you give me a boost?”

He drops to one knee, lacing his hands together, “Ready when you are, my lord.”

Slowly, the first rays of sunlight break across the mountaintops. It hits the snow and ice and makes the entire world burst in a bright shower of blinding white-blue light. Her eyes are not designed for this - Zabrak vision is more suited for the nighttime than anything else and it hurts to keep her eyes open.

But it’ll also blind the pubs for a few moments and that’s worth it.

She sprints towards Malavai without hesitation, planting her forward foot on his hands and leaping into the air as he pushes her up.

It feels almost like flying as she scales the wall, landing on the balls of her feet on the other side. The Republic forces are clearly visible, a scouting party hiding behind an ice boulder, scrambling around for what must be the proper goggles to avoid the painful reflection of the sun on the snow. Gimrizh hits the ground running with a burst of force-induced speed and crosses the gap between them in the blink of an eye.

When she gets there, they are completely unprepared.

Their shouts ring through the snowy silence as she swiftly decapitates the nearest scout.

As soon as the body falls, Armageddon Battalion opens fire behind her. The scouts scramble to fire back - she imagines it’s a difficult task given that she’s right in their faces, cutting them down when they turn their attention away from her for even the slightest of moments. It’s not a challenging engagement, just a tedious one.

The soldiers are cleaning up the rest of the scouts - she pushes the dead body of a pub onto the ground before it falls onto her - and a blaster bolt fires right behind her.

She whirls around, lightsabers at the ready.

Malavai’s at her back, his blaster still faintly smoking. A Republic scout falls to the snow with a blaster burn between the eyes.

Did she let her guard down? She must have, if she didn’t know that a pub was behind her. But it is so worth it for that self-satisfied smirk on Malavai’s lips that makes her want to drop her weapons and kiss him until she can’t breathe, right here in the snow. She barely even notices her laboured breathing, the flush in her cheeks - not from the snow or the fight.

“That’s the last of them!” Griest calls from across the battlefield, stomping through the snow to reach them.

Gimrizh tries to snap back, “Right. Let’s head back to base then.”

It’s going to be a long, cold march back to Dorne Base, and that sounds exactly like what she needs right now.

And truthfully it’ll be good to part of amicable terms with a man like Griest - given how often it seems she’s been pitted against the Empire as of late. While she is hesitant to criticize the Emperor and she knows that Baras is an internal threat, it does unnerve her how easily and readily the Hand orders her to strike at their own men.

~*~

Baras wrinkles his nose at the young upstart Twi’lek. What a distasteful Sith - the man should never have been allowed to progress this far. Using subspecies and former slaves for dirty work is all well and good - Baras should know. But they must be properly disposed of before such progression. Thanaton failed to properly kill this Twi’lek before he became too strong. A mistake Baras will not make himself.

There’s still smoke pouring off Thanaton’s corpse as the Twi’lek grins.

Across the room, Ravage leans back in his chair with satisfaction, “Good riddance, I say.”

“He was a better Sith than you give him credit for,” Marr replies calmly.

The Twi’lek, Vardri Kallig - a foreign slave name, what a gritty set of sounds - preens at the attention he is getting. “Don’t worry, _my_ lords. I shall do better than he ever did. Thanaton was an old, traditionalist relic. If the Empire is to survive this new war - nay, _thrive_ , we need better leadership. A fresh change.”

“You wish to take Thanaton’s place on the Council, then?” Mortis inquires. “You are the most suited to lead the Sphere of Ancient Knowledge, I admit. You shall get no complaint from me, but we still must put it to vote.”

“I am in favor, of course,” Mortis begins, “Councillors?”

Ravage gapes at him, outraged, “He’s only been a lord for mere months! This - this _boy_ isn’t fit to run a Sphere!”

“Silence,” Marr cuts him off. For as hot headed as Ravage is, few in the Council dare to directly defy Marr in case it results in combat. They all have their specialities, but as powerful as each of them is, it would take at least two councillors working in tandem to take out Marr in an open fight. “This boy, as you call him, has earned his place. I shall vote in favor of allowing him to take Thanaton’s seat.”

“I am against,” Ravage quickly retorts.

From the other side of the room, the holo of Vowrawn waves him off. “Yes, yes, you’ve made that quite clear. I, on the other hand, shall vote in favor. This young Twi’lek seems like fun company.”

Damn that man to each and every level of the Correllian hells. If he weren’t appearing today through the holo, Baras would kill him in his seat. Ah well. He has plans for Vowrawn that shall soon be completed.

Decimus and Hadra, both also appearing by holo, vote in favor, although Baras suspects it’s primarily because they have no desire to waste time finding another candidate for the position. Aruk is in favor, and of course he is, he was the one to allow slaves to join the Sith Order. 

“I vote in favor,” Rictus chimes in - by holo of course, and with his face behind a mask, as usual, “Lord Vardri is a skilled combatant - a fine assassin.”

Of course that’s all that matters to Rictus - that scum has no more right to be in that chair than the Twi’lek does to be on Dromund Kaas. It should be Ekkage in that seat, supporting Baras and commanding her own assassins. Not force-damned Rictus. Perhaps once Baras rises to the role of Voice, he shall have Rictus killed.

Acharon, also appearing by holo, shakes his head, “This Sith is too young. If he had a few more years behind him, I would vote in favor but he does not. I vote against.”

“I am in favor,” Zhorrid states, grinning at the Twi’lek, “Vowrawn is right, this’ll be fun.”

Even if Baras votes against, it won’t matter.

“I am in favor as well. Which is the end of that, I believe,” Baras reluctantly declares.

Vardri flips a lekku over his shoulder. “So I have the seat then? Lovely. I’ll be sure to add a few cushions to it - durasteel chairs? Really? Oh, and thank you all ever so much for your support, I do appreciate it.”

“Then,” Marr begins, standing from his chair, “by order of the Dark Council and in light of your reputation as a master of the dark side, you are now… Darth Nox.”

“What a _nice_ title.” The Twi’lek gives a ever so slightly sarcastic bow and then purses his lips. He holds up one finger, “Just one moment, if you please. I believe I have one last piece of business to attend to - vis a vis our dear friend Thanaton.”

To Baras’ surprise, Vardri marches over to Thanaton’s dead body and pulls a holocron out of the man’s pocket.

A _glowing_ holocron.

“Tut-tut,” Vardri remarks, tossing the thing up and down as light begins to stream from Thanaton’s corpse and the holocron. “Trying to escape on me? You are such a poor loser. And from someone who dabbled so heavily in ghosts during his lifetime, I am hardly surprised that you would try to cheat death. But putting a bit of your force presence into a holocron? How… _basic_ of you.”

Ravage raises an eyebrow, “Thanaton’s still kicking?”

“Oh, not for long, I assure you.” Vardri promises.

The Twi’lek open his mouth like some deep water fish and the purple light gets sucked down his throat - a moment later, he’s eaten everything of Thanaton’s presence.

There’s a clatter as he tosses the abandoned shell of a holocron to the floor. “Sorry for the interruption.”

“If you are finished with the theatrics,” Marr says, “then this session is adjourned.”

“Oh yes, of course. I look forward to working with you, Darth Marr.” The newly appointed Darth Nox bows to the room, “I look forward to working with all of you.”

With the session dismissed, the holos flicker out and the councillors leave the room.

Baras holds back until the room is empty and then slowly makes his way to speak with his newest coworker. Distasteful this Twi’lek may be, he’s on the Council now and it’ll be some time before Baras can change that. It would do him good to not make an enemy of this Twi’lek right away.

“Nox,” he greets, purposefully leaving off the title. He offers a handshake that the Twi’lek reciprocates. “I look forward to working with you. I am certain that we can peacefully coexist and do our jobs.”

A feral grin splits Nox’s lips. “Oh of course, I wouldn’t have it otherwise.”

“Then good day to you,” Baras nods. He turns to leave, not particularly wanting to stay here longer and he does have work to return to.

“Oh, and Baras?” Nox gleefully adds, “I look forward to working with Lord Gimrizh.”

~*~

Oren is reluctantly woken by a high-pitched buzzing noise that sounds exactly like the noise a datapad makes when it’s been set to vibrate for alerts. The sound drills into his skull.

He cracks an eyelid open to glare at the datapad sitting on the nightstand. It’s still buzzing. That’s Mako’s, why did she put it on _his_ side of the bed? Damn it. It should be on _her_ nightstand, where he doesn’t have to deal with it and it’s obnoxious loud noises. Instead of getting up, he growls half-heartedly at it and makes an aborted effort to push the blanket off before giving up entirely.

Torian groans, rolling over, not even half awake. Maybe a third awake, or a quarter awake. He tries to reach for the datapad but his hand just kinda gives up and plops down on Oren’s chest instead.

“That’s my tit,” Oren grumbles, curling into Torian’s warmth and trying to put a pillow over his ears. “Congratulations, you found it.”

The vibration finally wakes Mako. She crawls over the two of them to grab her datapad, leaning on top of them as she reads through the alert.

“Well,” she says after a long pause, “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

Oren thinks about it, “Bad news first.”

“Vette - our Twi’lek missing persons customer - sent a message. She got to her mother a few days after she died. Poor girl.” Mako scans through the text and stifles a yawn, “Vette says thanks anyway.”

Damn it, and Oren had really liked Vette too. Shame that. “Ugh. Refund her a couple thousand. Can’t believe we kept putting that off - guess I owe her now.”

“And the good news?” It’s difficult to hear Torian through the thick blanket that he’s pulled up over his ears. “Is it important?” He curses in Mando’a - a language that Oren will never learn because whatever else he may be he is still a Cathar through and through, and never a Mandalorian - and rolls over, “Or can we just... ignore it?”

Mako squints at the screen, “Nope. Put on clothes, boys, we’ve got work to do.”

~*~

Making it back to Dorne Base is cold and unpleasant but making it back to _Horizon_ is a different challenge for Gimrizh altogether.

At least there is something to put her mind towards, and she does need to clean up. There’s dirt and grime and lumps of congealed blood all over her hands, something to busy herself with. She’s holed up in her fresher, scrubbing her hands till they’re clean and raw.

That spark of smoldering rage in Malavai’s eyes is still the first thing she sees when she lets her mind wander.

“Damn it,” she mutters. They have running water, not just sonic, a luxury of Imperial space docks, and she splashes cold water over her face.

There’s a knock on the door.

She panics, drops her towel into the sink, swears, hastily yanks the water off, and throws the soaked towel onto the counter where it hopefully won’t drip all over the floor. Then she opens the fresher door.

It’s Malavai. She can feel her face burn with embarrassment. “My lord.” He glances at the blood stained towel on the counter and apparently comes to the wrong conclusion, “I was concerned if you were alright? You seemed distracted after the battle and have been in here for almost an hour now.”

“It’s nothing,” she hastily replies.  
He’s still got his blaster holstered at his hip. It should not be this distracting. She certainly does not glance at the weapon, not even for a second, not at all - she absolutely does.

“If you suffered injury and are refusing to inform me-”

“No, no, I’m fine.”

“Gimrizh,” he says firmly, “I just want to be certain that whatever it is you are not telling me isn’t something that will hurt you, and I am well aware that you are prone to ignoring minor injuries. I do not want it to worsen.”

She quickly shakes her head, “It’s really not that.”

Malavai puts his hands on his hips and stares her down. Oh stars, his hand is right next to his blaster, his fingers brushing against the grip. “Is there a reason-”

“It’s your blaster,” she blurts out, and then promptly wishes she hadn’t said anything at all.

“My blaster?” He asks, drawing the question out.

For a moment she flounders on those two simple words, wondering if he has any idea how much something as casual as shooting someone in front of her turns her on. Why is that so… enticing to her? The control he has when he shoots, perhaps? Maybe the power behind it, that draw of strength applied with precision that she’s always thought was one of Malavai’s most impressive qualities. Not brute force, but calculated. Clever.

The smugness of victory that he’s usually so good at hiding is made plain to see on his face when he kills. That might be it. Whatever else she may be, she is still Sith. Still attracted to that sort of power. But she doesn’t want him to be… put off by that.

Too nervous to answer truthfully, she glances away, “It’s nothing, forget I said anything, really -”

He lightly cups her chin and turns her head so that she has no choice but to look at him. She could pull away if she really wanted to, that’s always one of their caveats, but she finds she’s not sure if she wants to. There’s that familiar, almost dangerous look in his blue eyes and she thinks he already knows the truth.

Unable to help herself, her eyes dart down to his blaster before she meets his gaze again and she can tell he noticed. “Tell me.”

There’s no way he can’t feel her pulse racing along her neck. “When you shot that pub earlier - it was - it was distracting. I - I want to see you do it again.”

He lets go and steps behind her, his hands coming to rest on her waist, “Is that so?”

She can see him in the mirror, see the smug certainty on his face. Her hands lay over his as she only partly lies, “Yes.”

“Be honest,” he insists. He kisses her neck like they have all the time in the world, his teeth scraping across her jugular. If he bites every so slightly harder he’d break skin and she gasps at the thought. “Is ‘distracting’ really the word you meant to use?”

The reply of ‘no’ is one she stubbornly refuses to give. It gets more challenging to lie when he moves up, biting and sucking a hickey right under her jaw. “Of course it-” her breath hitches and she obligingly turns her head to give him better access, “What else would I have meant to say?” He bites down sharply, the unexpected burst of pain making her moan, “ _Mmmmnn_ … Malavai, _please_...”

“Tell me the truth and I’ll reward you. But if you lie again, I’m afraid you won’t like the punishment I come up with,” he warns.

That’s an ultimatum she doesn’t want to push. Past experience has taught her that he _will_ follow through on something like that. Of course, the whole point of having rules is to test them, but only to see what he’ll do if she breaks them. If she really doesn’t want to tell him, he’ll let her avoid it. Only part of her wonders what he’ll do when she says it. She looks away from the mirror, too embarrassed to see her own face as she admits, “Attractive - that’s the word I - The way you held your blaster, the way you killed - It turned me on.”

Through the force, she can sense how pleased he is by her response, his desire mirroring her own. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?” He tugs on the waistband of her pants, “Take these off and get on the bed.”

She gladly obeys. Her hands are trembling just enough to betray her nerves as she undoes the clasps on her boots and strips, leaving her shirt and underwear on because he hadn’t told her to take those off as well.

Anticipation coils low in her stomach, drawn out as Malavai seems content to take his time and make her wait.  He casually takes off his uniform jacket, dropping it over the back of her chair before undoing the buttons of his undershirt and neatly folding it. His blaster, usually the first thing that he takes off, is given special attention. The power magazine is removed before he returns it to his holster, disarmed, but no less enticing.

When he finally does pay her attention, it’s almost too much. He stands next to her by the bed, pressing his knee between her legs in a way that makes her shiver, and then he draws his blaster.

The sight is pointed straight at her throat. His hand wrapped around the grip is steady, unwavering as he aims at her like she’s just another target and he’s lining up the shot. Her hearts are pounding in her chest, a mix of fear and arousal intensifying one another. Cold light glints on the metal barrel and she digs her fingers into the sheets. There’s that unyielding element of control that makes her breathing shallow and heated, the thought that he could kill her if he wanted to causes heat to pool between her legs.

His expression is almost smug as he holds the muzzle a hairsbreadth above her skin. Calm and cold and arrogant and just slightly cruel.

Whatever he demands of her, she’d do instantly.

“Do you think you can handle a rule?” he asks, collected while she’s falling apart.

She nods, the motion jerky and nervous. If she really couldn’t, she knows she could tell him that and he wouldn’t impose any. Even so, she _wants_ rules. Wants to push herself, wants boundaries, wants the feel of safety that rules provide. “Yes, sir.”

“You are not allowed to flinch,” Malavai tells her.”

She doesn’t know if she can do that. “At all? What if I can’t help it?”

He relents ever so slightly, “I understand an involuntary reaction. Anything beyond that won’t be tolerated. If you break that rule,” he adds, the sincerity behind the threat clear, “then I will tie you up so that you cannot move, place my blaster right where you can see it, and leave, until I think you’ve learned your lesson. Am I clear?”

That’s probably the most effective threat he could have come up with and she knows he’ll do it if she tests him. At this point she thinks he could add a dozen more rules, each harsher than the last, and she’d still agree to them. “Yes, sir,” she repeats.

“Good.”

He finally touches her then. The muzzle of the blaster grazes her neck, cold metal just barely ghosting above her flushed skin. He drags it up and under her chin, nudging her head up before softly scraping the barrel against her cheek. It’s so slight and so intense and she barely manages to fight the shiver creeping under her skin, struggling to stay still for him, to obey the rule that he’s given.

A shuddering sigh escapes her as he presses just the tiniest bit harder. She gives when he pushes, letting him move her at his whim, tilting her head to the side just to show her the totality of his control over her.

“You’re shaking.” He lets the blaster drop and rest between her collarbones, the shallow rise and fall of her chest pressing into the metal.

She forces herself to be still, not to move a muscle as he torturously drags the blaster down until the muzzle tugs on her shirt’s neckline. She can’t figure out if she wants to pull away from the sensation or lean into it, in some ways, it’s a relief that she isn’t able to make that choice. “Sorry, sir, I’m trying not to.”

He finally lowers the weapon, holding it at his side - still in his hand, still _there_. More gently than she was expecting, he pulls her into his lap, his free hand on the curve of her back.

When he kisses her though, it’s anything but gentle. He kisses her, rough and molten, like he’s using her and in that moment that’s how she wants to feel more than anything. She clings to him like a lifeline, scratching red lines across his back, partly on accident, and partly because she knows he never minds adding pain to sex. Their kiss swallows up the moan he makes as she drags her nails down to his hips.

The touch of cold, hard durasteel makes her jolt and it’s such a challenge to hold still, to force herself not to flinch, taking the jitteriness of her muscles and shoving it away.

Malavai smirks at her as he slowly slides the blaster along her inner thighs, “You were close to breaking a rule just now.”

“Damn it,” She’s so on edge and flinching is such an instinctive reaction for her, it’s so tricky to catch herself doing it. He doesn’t even move and yet the remainder of his earlier promise - to tie her up and leave her - adds to her desperation, “I won’t do it again - I won’t flinch, sir, I swear.”

“I believe you. If I didn’t think you were capable of that, I wouldn’t have made it a rule.” He gently caresses her cheek with his knuckle, “I would never demand that of you, Gimrizh. So, I’ll ask again - can you keep still for me?”

“Of course, I promise,” she replies instantly. Breathless and shaky, she laughs, “At this point I think you could pull the trigger and I’d still do what you tell me.”

Right away she knows that’s the wrong thing to say.  
The mood breaks, Malavai pulls back until his hands are off her entirely, his eyes wide with - what is that, fear? Fear, and shock, and she knows that they’ve just crossed a line for him, like he’s just woken up and realized that this is wrong. “No,” he mutters, “No, no, I won’t. I wouldn’t. Gimrizh, I’m sorry, I can’t - fuck -”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she quickly tries to assure him.

Slowly, carefully, making sure he can see her every movement, she takes the blaster from his now trembling hand and places it on the nightstand.

He takes a deep breath, “Forgive me. I thought -” She can feel his heart pounding with fear, his thoughts recoiling with a mantra of _not that, never that, I can’t - won’t -_

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, yanking herself back from his presence in the force. “I didn’t mean to push. I’m sorry that - I’m sorry it went too far, sorry it was too much. I didn’t know.” She gently wraps her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder, “What line did that cross for you? What went wrong?”

“Please don’t make me answer that,” Malavai begs, “Please.”

It’s unclear to her, but she doesn’t need to understand his reasons. She just has to know that it’s hurt him. “Okay. You don’t have to answer anything I ask you, I’ll never… I’ll never demand anything of you like that. I’ll never demand anything of you at all.”

There’s still a slight tremor in his hands as he pulls her in to kiss her, all heat and need, seeking some form of comfort in the sear of her lips. “Thank you.”

It’s slow but no less desperate when she slides back into his lap. She rests her hands over his, leading him to grip her waist, letting him almost cling to her. “Tell me if it’s too much,” she requests, before languidly kissing his neck, dragging her tongue over his skin, sucking and nipping until a red bruise begins to form and he groans with pleasure.

“It’s not,” he tells her, “Keep… keep going.”

She obliges.

It’s not that her ardor has cooled, quite the opposite. It’s just taken a different form. Every move she makes, every touch, every kiss, it’s what she knows he likes best, it’s for him. It’s to pull her lover back from whatever scared him so. Thawing him, kissing him back to life.

With each kiss, she tries to press the words into his skin, “I love you.”

He yanks her closer and drags his tongue across her lips as though he’s trying to memorize what she just said. It’s unhurried, but no less passionate, as they find the buttons and zips of each other’s clothes. His hands are soft and uncertain as he pushes her shirt off her shoulders, waiting for her to guide him to the knot in her chest wrappings before taking them off. When Gimrizh reaches down to stroke his erection through his trousers, she does it like it’s a question, making sure he’s alright, that he wants this, that she’s not pushing.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do what you wanted,” Malavai says, helping her push his pants down before leaning in to softly bite at her breast. “Next time, I promise.”

None of that matters to her, not really. “I’m not interested in you for your bedroom tricks, Malavai. I. Love. You. And right now? That’s however _you want_ me to love you. Besides, I think we both enjoy this rather a lot without the tricks as well.”

As if to prove her point, she slowly sinks down on his cock until he’s fully hilted within her. She can hear him groan as she stops to catch her breath, feeling more winded than she should.

Stars, she loves the feeling of him inside her, loves the way they meld together, the feel of his hands grabbing her ass, the pleasure of it all.

This time, it’s all for him. Every move of her hips, every kiss she presses to his neck, Her clit throbs with need and she ignores it to keep her hands on him, lovingly tangling her fingers into his hair.

She rides him softly, desperately.

It doesn’t take them long, they’re both too worked up to draw this out. Malavai comes first, with a moan and his fingers digging into her skin. Only after does she left her hand drop to her clit, working herself until she gets off a few moments later.

“I love doing that for you,” Gimrizh murmurs, out of breath.

Malavai laughs, a short exhale more than anything. “You are a singularly unique woman. I desperately wish I could love you as much as you deserve.”

“You probably have an inflated opinion of what I deserve, then.”

“Not at all. You are radiant, my lord.”

She unwillingly looks away from him on reflex as her holo buzzes. The temptation to ignore it is oh-so tantalizing. “Ugh. It’s probably nothing.”

He lifts her up off his lap and grabs the holo for her, helpfully pulling her shirt up to cover her as she takes the holo, “It’s _probably_ important.”

With great, and likely over-dramatic reluctance, she reads the message. That’s a surprise. She would have guessed Vette as the sender, if anyone. “Huh,” she says, “It’s from Pierce.”

Malavai’s hand tightens on her shoulder.

“He’s back on Hoth… wants to meet up,” she summarizes, noting the place and time marked in the note. It’s on the edge of the Dorne Base cluster, a bar that she’s never heard of before, but probably sketchy, given the location. Far enough from the main base that it’s unlikely to be an officer’s bar, but honestly, when has Pierce ever chosen to frequent those? “Oh stars, in _twenty krithing minutes._ ”

“Does the lieutenant say _why_?”

“Hmm… He wants to talk to me about something.”

She gets to her now-shaky feet and quickly starts tugging her clothes back on. “I’m sorry to rush off like this but -”

“No,” Malavai replies, faster than usual, “It’s alright. You should go.”

“Alright. I’ll try and get back as soon as I can. Then we can report to the Hand and get off this freezing planet.” She leans in to kiss him, just a fast goodbye kiss that drags out as Malavai pulls her closer and holds on, as though he can’t bare to see her go.

“I love you.”

~*~

Gimrizh is going to have a talk with Pierce about his shit taste in bars. This place is built into an ice wall like so many buildings on Hoth are, which makes it cold, but not necessarily bad. It’s the persistent reek of spice, terrible looking clientele, and shabby decor that makes her wrinkle her nose.

Nevertheless, she agreed to meet him here. She wanders through the haze of spice smoke and takes a seat at the bar.

There’s a Devaronian behind the counter, flipping brightly tinted bottles for the amusement of a Jawa a few seats down. He tosses one over his shoulder only to have it land perfectly on the shelf behind him. The Jawa bursts into enthusiastic applause. He takes a bow before pouring the tiny Jawa a drink and wiping down the few spills that his show caused, before catching sight of Gimrizh and heading on over.

“What can I getcha?” He asks, leaning on the countertop and giving her what she assumes he thinks is a winning grin.

“Ryloth sunset. Thanks.”

He starts mixing it up for her in that same showman’s manner, tossing the shaker around in the air like he’s trying to juggle. The pink and orange drink is given a speedy stir before he sets it down. “Sure thing, my good lady. Anything else I can help you with? You looking for some company tonight?”

Pointedly, she tugs the glass towards her with a burst of force energy. “I’m waiting for a friend. That’ll be all.”

The bartender shrugs. “Aight. Not my business, I get it.”

And then he’s fortunately off to the other end of the bar, wiping down a stack of dirty tumblers. Thank stars for that.

She sips her drink and waits for Pierce to show up, looking around the bar in a fit of boredom.

Apparently misconstruing this for interest, a blond man in pirate gear saunters up to the bar and leans next to her. “Now what’s a -”

“Not interested,” she cuts him off, “and I’d prefer to be left alone with my drink, thanks.”

He looks taken aback, but tries again. Kudos for persistence. Points taken off for idiocy. “Hey, I was only-”

“Not. Interested. Did I stutter?”

The man puffs his chest up and takes the challenge, “Yeah. I think you did.”

She takes a long sip of her cocktail. “Good. Then you heard me twice.”

For a minute she thinks he’s going to try and push it when a large, furred hand clamps down on his shoulder. It’s a Cathar wearing a mishmash of plate armor, furs, and gadgets. He’s bulky in shape, with dark hair tied into a tight bun, and scattered stripes on his fur. Not muscular enough to be a real threat to her, nor heavily armed enough. She can’t see any weapons on him other than one blaster and that’s not really worrying. One blaster isn’t hard for her to handle.

“Evening.” His voice has a strange cadence to it - higher than she might guess and smooth. “Now I think you were leaving, right?”

The human mumbles under his breath before rushing off in a bigger hurry than he came.

Gimrizh wishes for some peace and quiet. “Thanks, but I had that handled. And I believe I said I wasn’t interested.”

“Oh I know,” he laughs, “I heard. But I’ve got a girlfriend and a boyfriend - so I’m also not interested.”  
“Ah.”

“I’d offer to buy you a drink but I can see you’ve already got one. So I’ll just ask if you’d care for a bit of chat while you wait for whoever you’re meeting here while I wait for my two loves to get here.”

At least he doesn’t seem like an ass. “That depends on the type of chat. I’m not a social person.”

“Then what kind of person are you?”

“Just someone trying to get by. Why don’t you tell me who you are?”

“I’m Oren. And I’ve never met a Sith who was just trying to get by.” She resigns herself to conversation as he takes a seat, ordering his own drink from the bartender. “What’s your story? Most Sith I’ve met were all more… well they had a very commanding presence. Someone just trying to get by doesn’t fit with that.”

Gimrizh finishes her drink and lets the Devaronian refill it. If she’s waiting, she might as well. It’s not like she can’t flush the alcohol from her system if she has to. “You’re awfully fixated on that one line I just said.”

“Sorry.” He laughs again, scratching his head with his sharp claws, “Just found it an interesting turn of phrase, is all.”

“Well you can find it _interesting_ somewhere else.”

“Hey, no need to get snippy, I won’t push. We’ve all had bad days, I get it.”

“Oh? Have your bad days included attempted assassination by your former master? A mountain exploding and falling on your head? If not, I doubt you’ve had as bad as I have.”

“Former master?”

“A right bastard who tried to kill me after a year of loyal service.” She’s gripping her glass hard enough to break it now and has to relax herself. “I didn’t even do anything. He just turned on me.”

“Weeelllllll… I’ve had some shit. Not that bad though. Tough life, being a Sith?”

“You haven’t the faintest.”

“Got yourself any good company to keep? I’ve found that helps with the shit.”

She’s halfway through her second drink and debating ordering another. “Got a good crew. Some soldiers, some Sith, a sister. You’re the one with a girlfriend _and_ a boyfriend. You’d know. I’ve only ever dated one person at a time.” That is, if she can even count what she’s doing with Malavai as dating. It’s hardly a conventional relationship and she doesn’t want to pressure him into anything with labels.

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, practically slurping his scotch. “My girlfriend’s got a sister. Er, more than one. Sorta. What’s yours like?”

Oh fuck she called Vette her sister. Oh shit. Krething hells. Sure, Vette’s called her ‘sister’ before but it’s another thing when she actually agrees! “Not related to me. Just a close friend. She’s not even the same species as me - she’s a Twi’lek. Not even really a sister, I suppose I misspoke, just a close friend.”

“Oh? What’s her name? I’ve always found Twi’lek naming conventions fascinating. They have a born name, and then they name themselves, did you know?” Oren swirls his drink, “I wish Cathar had a tradition like that.”

“Her name’s Vette, but if you’re looking for a story of how she named herself, I’m afraid I can’t help you there.” She should ask though. Now she’s a bit curious, despite herself.

“Ah fuck,” Oren sighs.

She frowns, offended, “Excuse me?”

“You’re _that_ Sith. The one that paid to free Vette’s sister from Nar Shaddaa. Ah _crap_ , and I totally owe her a favor now too, what with her mother and all. Ah damn it to hells. I _really_ wanted that money.”

 _Bounty hunter_.

In the blink of an eye, Gimrizh leaps up onto her seat, draws her lightsaber, and slices to cut his head from his shoulders.

There’s a screech of metal as her lightsaber is blocked.

 _That’s not possible_.

Oren’s kicked his chair back and has got one of his forearm bracers between his neck and her blade, the red energy sparking against the metal. It’s stopped her lightsaber, actually stopped it.

“ _Mandalorian_ _steel_ ,” she snarls.

Suddenly, the bar has emptied except for four others.

The Jawa, the barman, a woman with cybernetic implants, and a man with a vibroblade. Every single one of them has a blaster pointed towards her head. Shit. She’s outnumbered and she’s just got one of her blades occupied.

“Damn.” Oren whistles and looks appreciatively at his blond friend. “Torian, I owe you one for this. Now if only we could afford the rest of the armor set.” He holds up his free hand to Gimrizh, his palm open like he’s trying to appear un-threatening. “Listen. Yes, I’m a bounty hunter. We all are. And yes, I’ve got a price for your head. Darth Baras? I’m guessing he’s that master that tried to have you killed?”

Fuck - she is so fucked. “Baras is slipping. I thought he’d send that new apprentice of his if he wanted to finish me off properly.”

“I think there’s been a _bit_ of a misunderstanding,” Oren admits.

The woman lowers her blaster an inch and groans, “You’re not taking abandoning this one, are you?”

“She’s _Vette’s s_ ith!” Oren argues, sounding rather pathetic, “We owe Vette a damn big favor, one that a refund won’t fully fix. And besides. I’d like to keep a Sith around who’s in the habit of paying a shit ton of credits to free slaves. Some things mean more than credits, although admittedly, not many.”

Carefully, Gimrizh lowers her blade, flipping it in her palm in case she needs to attack again. She can free up her second weapon and let him think that she’s playing nice. “Oh? Or is it just that this is a fight you know you can’t win?”

“We _do_ have honor, you know.” This pointed comment comes from the blond man, the one with a vibrosword on his back.

Oren digs around through his pocket, “And we were going to win this fight. Speaking of…” He delicately places a vial of clear liquid on the counter, “You might wanna drink this.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” she demands.

He glances at her empty glass. “It’ll counteract what we put in your drink. We just gave you a bit of Sweet Dream but it should be kicking in soon.”

Shit. _Shit_. Of course, how could she be so stupid, that Devaronian is on Oren’s team, of course they would drug her. This whole thing was a setup, they probably lured her here by using Pierce’s name to message her. And like an idiot, she was fool enough to come all the way out here, far enough from Dorne Base that it wouldn’t be hard to drag her off to kill her.

“How do I know _that’s_ not the poison?” She’s just stalling at this point, she knows that they’ve won this engagement. It’s obvious. She’s _fucked._

Oren shrugs, “Go run off and find a medic then.”

His crew moves aside to clear a path between her and the door.

Gimrizh grabs the vial off the counter and slowly backs towards the door, keeping her lightsaber hilt in hand in case they try anything.

“Tell Vette I said hi. And that I’m sorry,” Oren tells her.

There’s the crunch of her feet hitting snow and then she runs.

~*~

The doors to _Horizon_ slide open and to his shock, Malavai sees Gimrizh stumble through. He’d been expecting her to come back with Pierce, to know the truth, to -

“Malavai.” Her voice is slurred, she leans against the walls of the ship like she can’t stand, “It wasn’t Pierce… Bounty hunters…”

She’s been drugged.

He panics, his heartbeat racing as he tries to think of his options. First things first. He wraps an arm around her, letting her lean on him as he carries her to the medbay, “What are you feeling, what are your symptoms?”

“I… tired?” Gimrizh collapses on the medical bed as he rushes around the room, grabbing a scanner and hurrying back to her side. “They gave me this…” She hands him a small container of something he can’t identify by sight alone. “Said it would counter what they gave me.”

“Did they tell you what that was?” He asks, desperately checking her vitals. The tiredness makes sense, her limbs are moving heavily, as though her muscles are forcibly relaxing. At least her breathing is stable and her pulse isn't too far from Zabrak-normal. Some kind of tranquilizer, perhaps? Or is it actually a poison? Poison should be more aggressive than this, but this is hardly his area of expertise and he’s well aware that he’s out of his depth.

She tries to shrug limply, “Sweet Dream.”

“I don’t know what that is!” He swears and takes the vial over to microscope, pouring it into the sensor’s area and letting the detection program run. “Damn street names.”

“You can fix it…”

“I’m not a chemist! I went to medical school with a specialization in _field surgery_ , not -” Malavai grabs the empty vial, the detection program confirming his speculation a second later. “Flumazenil.”

Gimrizh’s eyes flutter closed as she asks, “What?”

“It’s a drug to wake patients up after surgery, it can counter tranquilizers in special circumstances.” He’d need a blood analysis to be sure what they gave her, but at least he has a guess now, “I think they gave you a benzodiazepine, or something similar. Not harmful, just a tranquilizer.”

“Shit. I’ve… never had one of those.” Gimrizh slowly explains, “I can… burn off drugs with the force, but only with prior exposure. I’ve never encountered this before. What… do I do?”

“I…” Malavai hesitates. “It suggests they weren’t trying to kill you, that they were going to knock you out and take you elsewhere. Otherwise they would have poisoned you from the start. If they didn’t give you enough to overdose you… then the flumazenil wouldn’t be of much help. They’re probably inexperienced with this. I think it might be best… if you just sleep the drug off. You’ll have a rough night’s sleep but it’ll be better than taking something else while I’m not sure what, specifically, they gave you.”

She looks most of the way to sleep already. “O...kay. I… should go to my quarters.”

Oh no. “You are staying right here, where I can keep you monitored and safe.” He helps her lay back, clipping a device around her wrist to monitor her vials and setting a scanner up to make sure there’s no dangerous brain activity during her sleep.

He needs to inform the rest of the crew, make sure they return as fast as possible in case these bounty hunters decide to come back.

One foot is out the door when she whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Gimrizh. Nothing at all. I’m sorry I can’t help you more.”

 _I’m sorry I’m not who you deserve_.

He lets her fall into a deep, unnatural sleep before fetching his datapad and sending an alert off to the crew.

There’s - there’s a message.

No sender, just a series of data files. Baras? Malavai’s always known in the back of his mind that the debt he owes that sith hasn’t gone away. Or the bounty hunters, perhaps? Someone else, maybe that Jedi Rineth?

Hesitantly, he opens the first file.

It’s a holo recording, from over a year and a half ago. Marked with Imperial date stamps and a location - _Korriban?_ The blue holo unmistakably shows a young Gimrizh, in a cell block, helping a man out of prison.

“ _You’ve got to get out of here, I’ve got your lightsaber and your comm, here, take them. I have a friend, he can help you escape, he's waiting for you on a ship_.”

Malavai felt his mouth fall open. The man’s a Jedi?

“ _Thank you, I don’t know why you’re helping me, but lives will be saved -”_

“ _It’s a trap, the sith inquisitors have implanted false information inside your head, you need to return to Tython.”_

“ _You’re… but the sith plan… I don’t understand_.”

“ _This isn’t right. That’s all you need to understand._ ”

The holo feed continues, playing through their escape.

Malavai can’t breathe, he can’t think, what _is_ this, who sent this to him - “Gimrizh, what did you _do_?”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooooohhh look what's on the horizon for this fic  
> Please comment, let me know what you did/didn't like! Hit me up on tumblr @semper-draca


	26. A Zero Sum Problem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit this got written fast. I'm as perplexed as you are, folks.  
> This chapter, aka: more angst than you can swing a cat at, Sel-Makor doesn't exist cause he's dumb, and everyone gets to Corellia JUST FINE and NOTHING HAPPENS along the way, okay? OKAY!

_A hum. Ship engines. A space station. A heap of destroyed droid parts._

_“You did it again.”_

_The voice doesn’t really echo, but it reverberates through the space. It encompases every inch of the room that seems to stretch on forever. Gimrizh draws her attention away from the two ruined battle droids on the floor and looks up at Yaina, “What did I do?” She doesn’t remember doing anything._

_“You did it again.”_

_“Did what again?”_

_Yaina lifts her head up and underneath her jaw is a burned lightsaber hole that goes all the way through her skull and out - “You did it again.” - and then she’s falling to the ground only it’s not Yaina anymore, the green skin pales and the hair turns black and it’s Malavai -_

_\- Malavai dead on the ground - a lightsaber in Gimrizh’s hand -_

With a choked scream, Gimrizh wakes up.

She’s upright in bed, on _Horizon_ , drenched in sweat, but at least she’s awake. Her hearts are pounding beneath her breast. What the hell was that. What the _hell_.

It only reassures her somewhat to glance down and see Malavai asleep beside her. His rest looks no more peaceful than hers however. There’s a shine of sweat on his forehead and a frown twisted on his lips. As she smooths his hair back, she can feel him shaking ever so slightly in his sleep.

She rests her hand on top of his and gently squeezes. “Sorry to disturb you,” she whispers.

 _Horizon_ is peacefully silent as she pads across the durasteel floors to the bridge. Just the hum of the engines and the distant whir that’s Toovee running a cleaning program over in the galley. If she strains her ears she can also hear the sounds of fists hitting a punching bag - Pierce must be up and training in the cargo bay.

For a minute she debates joining him and then decides against it. Solitude sounds like a better idea right now.

Sure enough, the bridge is deserted. She sinks into the captain’s chair, absently pulling up their course and making sure _Horizon_ is still making good time to Voss.

Why did she dream of Yaina? Her old sister has been a feature in many a nightmare, but never one like that. Usually the dream will be bloodier, more violent. She’s dreamt of Yaina screaming at her in rage more often than not and those dreams always end as Yaina kills her. This felt different. Not peaceful, certainly not, but… calm? Certain? Like a clear glimpse between the dust clouds of a nebula.

It felt _real_.

The fleeting thought that it could have had strains of prophecy is considered and then quickly discarded. She’s never had leanings towards that talent in the force before. And it still doesn’t make sense. Why would she kill Malavai or let him die? Besides, Yaina killed herself. She can’t see Malavai doing the same, not like that. As much as she hates to think it, he wouldn’t while she’s still alive. He wouldn’t while there’s someone to order him not to.

No, as long as she lives, that dream will never be anything more than an unpleasant nightmare.

To Voss then. And hopefully to more peaceful dreams.

~*~

Foris is in the middle of spreading out a series of holo maps for the Bastion when the boss gathers everyone at the table for a group meeting. Bad timing on her part, that. He starts packing up his holos just as soon as the entire crew gathers around the long table. Nearly everyone besides him looks like a wreck. Jaesa and the boss have sleep-deprived bloodshot eyes. He’d heard Vette crying during the night. Even the captain looks rumpled.

“Voss,” Gimrizh begins, standing in front of them with her hands clasped behind her back, “Due to the complicated political situation on the planet, you may be in close quarters with Republic military and senatorial personnel. We have been given orders by the Hand not to disrupt the peace, so even though I know this may be challenging, please do not start conflict.”

Jaesa raises her hand and then awkwardly lowers it, “The Voss are still neutral, right? The Jedi Council said their use of the force was improper, necessitating jedi guidance.”

Sounds like a bunch of bullshit to Foris, but okay.

“Yes, the Voss are still neutral, and I don’t know enough about how the Voss utilize the force to comment.” Gimrizh moves on, tossing a datapad onto the table, “While we’re on Voss, _Horizon_ will be undergoing major repairs to our weapons systems. The details are in that datapad, review them if you want. As such, _Horizon_ will be off limits during our tenure on Voss.”

Vette pipes up, “Can I have money for a fancy hotel room?”

“Hotel room money is fine. Use your discretion though.” She gives Vette a hard look, “No starting fights, Vette. I mean it.”

“Sheesh, I’m not going to pick a fight. Not even if it’s fun,” Vette reluctantly agrees.

It’s inconvenient though. Foris had been intending to use the ship’s communications to have his secure conversations with the rest of black ops. They’re gearing up to take the Bastion soon and things need to be finalized. While he _can_ encrypt the holos off _Horizon_ , it’s less convenient and just sort of a pain in the ass. “How long will upgrades take?”

“Approximately a full two weeks, and I don’t expect us to remain on Voss a good deal longer than that. Captain Quinn will be supervising the necessary installations. So, anyone want to trek through the Voss wilderness with me?” Gimrizh asks wryly.

“I need to plan for the Bastion,” Foris replies, the first one to bow out, “Sorry boss.”

She nods, “Can’t say I blame you. Vette, Jaesa?”

The two exchange looks. “We’re staying behind, if that’s alright,” Jaesa says, “I don’t think it’d be a good idea for either of us to go with you, right now at least.”

“Alright,” Gimrizh allows, “Then you all are on leave while I complete my mission here. Any questions?”

“Not really.” Foris grabs the datapad she gave out and scans through the list of upgrades. It’s pretty simple, their primary blaster cannons are really old and there are newer models with more advanced targeting computers being installed on all _Fury-_ Interceptors landing in Imperial spacedocks. That, and a paint job. _Horizon_ ’s gotten a bit banged up as they’ve traipsed throughout the galaxy. “Will this alert Baras? Let him know that we’re on Voss?”

There’s a thoughtful frown as she considers it, “I don’t think so. We’ll be docking under our burner call-sign. Baras shouldn’t be informed at all.”

“Sweet. Vacation,” Vette gets up and stretches before heading out of the conference room, “If that’s all, I’m going to go pack my swimsuit.”

Foris laughs, “Doubt there’s much swimming on Voss.”

“Sunbathing then!” She yells from the hallway.

Jaesa clears her throat and leaves as well, “I’ll go help her. Thanks for keeping us informed, master.”

“Same,” Foris says on his way out, “See you after you’re done.”

Instead of following Jaesa to the crew quarters, he waits silently outside the door. He’s far enough that neither Gimrizh nor the captain can see him, and the hum of _Horizon_ ’s engines covers the sound of his breathing. It’s feels bad eavesdropping on the boss, but he’s curious, concerned for her and still suspicious of Quinn.

“Are you okay?” He can hear Gimrizh ask softly, in a kinder tone than he usually hears from her. She’s usually… well, not sharper, but more clipped. More sass, more snap. Not this actual, soft, gentle tone of affection. “You didn’t say a word during the meeting.”

“I’m fine, thank you, my lord.”

“You’re doing that again. You only call me that in private when something’s wrong. I… I just want to help.”

“It’s nothing, forgive me. As we go further down the Hand’s path, it just adds a good deal of stress and worry. I’m certain things will return to normal when all this is done with.”

“We can do it, Malavai. With the Emperor behind us, we can kill Baras.”

“I know. I have great faith in your capabilities.”

“... Get some rest during the repair process. You haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

“Neither have you.”

Ugh, nothing useful. Why does Foris keep getting nothing from the captain? Confronting him didn’t work, trying to gather evidence didn’t work, asking Vette didn’t work. Honestly, Foris isn’t sure what his next move will be. Either he takes this straight to Gimrizh and shows her everything he has, or he gives up on this all together.

Maybe Tanido was right. Whatever the captain did in the past, whatever it is that makes Foris so bone-deep suspicious of him, it could be over and done with. If Quinn resolved something privately with Gimrizh, that’s not really his business. And whatever the captain did in the past, earlier in his tenure on Gimrizh’s crew, he does seem loyal now. Foris _likes_ working for Gimrizh, she’s a good boss and they’re doing interesting work. He doesn’t particularly want to get kicked off her crew.

Would she even listen to him though? If she doesn't, it’ll be a waste of his breath and he’ll have ruined his entire case.

~*~

“Wow,” Vette whistles appreciatively as she and Jaesa wander aimlessly through the streets of Voss-ka. “This place is _stunning_.”

It _is_. It’s a beautiful planet, all sunset lighting and orange grass, greens that are almost a rich brown. The capital city is massive, sprawling across the biggest mountain-range Vette’s ever seen. Years of building and erosion must have flattened the mountain tops into a plateau that’s become the base of this city. The structures here are in a style that she’s never seen before, but it’s oddly reminiscent of what she’s seen on Ryloth. It looks built into the environment, carved from the same rock that the mountains are made of.

Jaesa hums, smiling at what’s around them, at the robed Voss that walk beside them. “It’s surprising that a place like this has stayed neutral for so long - and so isolated. I admit, I’m used to seeing the touches of Imperial or Republic influence on planets.”

During her time with her Twi’lek gang, they’d made occasionally stops at Ryloth, stayed there for a bit and eaten the food - which always tasted more like home than anything Vette’s ever eaten. Given the similarities in buildings, she wonders if the food here will taste similar to Ryloth cuisine. She wonders if Tivva would like it here, if she could sell Voss as a better place to stay than Nar Shaddaa or Tatooine.

“So,” she asks, “What do you want to do while here?”

“I think I’d like to do some shopping,” Jaesa admits, blushing bright red, “The um, the clothing style here is interesting. What about you?”

Vette shrugs, “I… kinda just want a vacation. And I’ve got some people to call.”

“The bounty hunter that went after Master Gimrizh?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. I know that must be confusing for you.”

“It is - I thought he was just out for cash but. Well. Why would he spare her just cause she’s friends with me? Did I leave that much of an impression on the guy?”

“Did you trust him?”

“What? No, it wasn’t like him picking up a bounty on Gim was a betrayal or anything. It is his job, after all. I mean, I thought he seemed at least like sort of a decent guy but - that’s on me, not him, it wasn’t like he tricked me or anything. I just really want to know why he thought a connection to me was enough to pass up what’s probably a huge stack of credits. Doubt Baras would skimp on his ‘killing Gimrizh fund’.”

“I hope you get your answers.”

Vette gives her a kiss, “Alright, go do your shopping. I’m going to find a nice place to stay and I’ll holo you when I’m done.”

“I won’t be long,” Jaesa promises, squeezing her hand before heading off towards a busy shopping district of the city.

Vette heads the opposite direction, people watching on her way to a hotel district.

The people of Voss are really interesting. They’re a bit taller than usual humans, with strange colored skin and beautiful patterns of bumps and ridges and lines all over the skin, contrasted by multi-faceted eyes that shine in various unnatural colors. Not a follicle of hair on a single one of them, and she wonders if they have some of the same problems that more hairless Twi’leks and Gimrizh do - with sweat not getting caught in hair.

It’s no surprise that Jaesa was interested in the clothing, either. All of the Voss are robed, in anything from thin linen that seems weightless to heavy synthwool-like weaves. The head is usually covered too, as far as she can tell, and with nothing as small as a Twi’lek _lekkan_ headdress. The Voss wear full cowls, scarves wrapped around their features, draping hoods, and all of it is rich with pattern and color. The jewelry too, gold and silver on every other inch of skin or fabric.

The Voss just _shine_. Vette’s a little envious.

She ends up checking into a hotel in a touristy part of the city that caters to non-Voss. It almost gives her a heart attack to see a group of Republic troopers waiting in line behind her - so long in Imperial space has made that a bit of a shocker.

The room she got is on the top floor, with a spectacular view of the city skyline. “Jaesa’ll love this,” she murmurs to herself, dropping their bags on the bed.

She sends a message to Jaesa with their room information and then calls Oren.

“Vette,” he says as soon as the call connects, “I’m glad you called.”

“Skip the greetings, why did you spare Gimrizh?”

He shrugs, “Well, she’s your friend. Way I figure it, you’re a repeat client, Baras isn’t. If I had to antagonize one of you, I’d pick him. It’s not like me and mine can’t take whatever he might dish out in return.”

No, no, _no._ He’s dodging the question, making up something else. Sure, it might be true that she’s more likely to hire him again than Baras is, but that’s still not the answer that they both know she’s looking for. “Uh, no. Sounds nice, but nah. You told Gimrizh _specifically_ that you owed me a favor - what did that mean?”

“Same reason I gave you a refund?” He offers, scratching his head, “I felt bad about your mother’s death.”

“Yeah,” she presses, “that was why you gave me a refund. Why did you spare Gimrizh too?”

She wants to hear him say it - she needs to know for sure.

Oren looks away, fidgeting with his armor, “I… come on, Vette, we both know… Three of my friends had been killed, I had someone after my hide - I got caught up in krething Sith business, have a Darth up my ass. I’d completed my great hunt, my calling, I was top of the world, and there was so much to do all of a sudden, so much crap with Jedi to handle - ”

“Just fucking tell me to my face!”

“I put it off! I didn’t look for your mother until I needed the money, okay? It wasn’t hard, we could have done it ages ago, I just didn’t… I didn’t get around to it.”

That was what she wanted. The confirmation.

Oren sees something on her face and flinches, “I’m sorry. I figured if I couldn’t get you your mom… I could at least keep your friend for you. I know it doesn’t make up for it, but when she mentioned that she was your friend I just knew that I couldn’t do it. That it wouldn’t be fair.” He glances down until the silence becomes too thick. “I lost my entire family to slavery. I lost years of my life to slavery. I lost my name to slavery. Didn’t mean to put someone else through that too. That was wrong of me. I’m sorry.”

“I just…” There’s a deep tiredness to his sigh, “They tried to make me a Mandalorian, you know? I got so caught up in everything I almost said yes. I got so caught up in all of it that I forgot what was important and your mother paid the price for my mistake - my laziness - and I’m sorry.”

“Good,” she says at last, “You should be.”

She ends the call and just sits there, shaking with anger, sadness, and just… disappointment.

~*~

Gimrizh is in _love_ with this speeder bike.

A trek through the Voss wilderness to light some force-damned ceremonial signal pyres had sounded so long that she’d bought her own transportation back in Voss-ka. It’s second hand, but it’s previous owner had clearly loved it to death - the engine is brand new and there’s a fresh coat of paint on it. The wires are a bit frayed with age and there are a number of just _old_ parts to it, so it makes sense that she got it for the price she did.

But she doesn’t look at the bike and see an old model. She looks at it and sees _potential_. A _project_.

She’s a ways out from Fort Kodentha, at the top of a hill, a burning pire behind her and a few nexu prowling the forests below that are rightfully too afraid of her to attack. The bike is just hovering in front of her as she takes a look underneath the casing.

It’s an older Roche model, the casing identifies it as a _Widow_ with the engine from a newer _Icecat_. The seat is definitely older - she’d had to practically lie on her stomach to fly it properly. That design is to maximize speed by limiting wind resistance and stars does it work. If Gimrizh had her way, she’d never fly it slower than its max speed.

There’s no way in all Correllian hells she’s leaving this behind when they depart Voss.

She snaps the casing back on when she feels a strange - very strange - presence in the force suddenly appear.

It’s a Voss man, translucent and flickering like the firelight and for a moment she thinks he’s like of the mad sith ghosts that wander the Dark Temple on Dromund Kaas.

“Voss welcomes you, outside,” he says. His voice isn’t an echo, it sounds like it’s on the wrong plane of reality, “Why do you seek Madaga-ru?”

She’s got her hand on her lightsaber even as she realizes it won’t work on a being like him, “I don’t think that’s your business. Unless you _are_ Madaga-ru?”

“An answer will cost you. You asked an audience. You must give to get. It is the Voss way. Tell me your purpose, or divulge a secret. Or it all ends here.”

“I’ll give you no secret,” she replies quickly, “but I’ll tell you my purpose. Madaga-ru has knowledge that I seek.”

“Then Madaga-ru will meet you,” the being agrees. A transparent arm points to a cave up the mountainside, “Go.”

And then he’s vanished.

“Load of help you were,” she mutters. Fuck the Voss way. Fuck the Voss way that involves being attacked by wild animals, walking across miles of mountain range, lighting three random krething signals in the middle of fuck-nowhere.

She hops on her fantastically wonderful speeder and makes her her way higher up. Voss atmosphere is a little denser than she’s used to, and the air doesn’t thin as much as it should at higher altitudes.

Unfortunately the rocks and the steep angle make it difficult to navigate with her speeder when she gets closer, and she has to get off and push her bike the last little ways before leaving it at the cave entrance.

It’s - it’s that fucking glowing man. The same guy. Fucking Madaga-ru.

“You saw my signal,” she drawls, “Was it too far a walk down the mountain for you? Or did you just not feel like getting up?”

He’s sitting peacefully on the floor. There’s a woven rug underneath him and a what looks like a home built into the cave - supply crates and blankets and water containers. And a number of strange items that look almost ritualistic. Something Voss use to harmonize with the force, she supposes. “I recognize you. Another came - he was of Voss, but housed the same darkness that you do now.”

The Emperor’s presence. “I’m hoping you know where he went.”

“There is much I could tell you,” he says confirms. Although the fact that he’s saying that makes her think he won’t tell her at all. “But nothing is free. I practice the older ways of Voss - as you have learned, no doubt.”

“Right,” she groans, “I have to tell you something in return?”

“You avoided it before. Now you must share a secret. Any will do, but it must be worth this information. As I am the only one who can tell you where this other man went - your secret must be something no one else knows.”

“Hells no.”

He turns his head, “Then I shall give you nothing.”

“Fine - krething _fine_. I… There was a girl I knew back on Korriban - Eskella. I spared her father’s life but she tried to kill me, thinking him dead. I didn't know what to do so I locked her up in the jail cells and used her unconscious body to break a different prisoner out. The prison droids aren’t clever. As far as I know, she’s still there. Happy? Neither Eskella nor Quorian know that full story.”

“An admission is made. That is fair payment.”

Fuck his fucking fair payment.

“He went to the Dark Heart chamber in the Nightmare Lands. You must follow,” Madaga-ru continues, “The Dark Heart is ancient, forbidden. The secrets of Voss are buried there. The denied truths. Your predecessor wrapped himself in the blessing of Oneness, without it, an outsider cannot even see the gateway to the Dark Heart. Vana Xo can bestow the blessing, in the Shrine of Healing.”

“Then I’m off.” She turns sharply on her heel and heads out just as fast as she entered.

“Respect the Voss way,” he cautions as she leaves, “or the Dark Heart is denied.”

Fuck the fucking Dark Heart. And Vette thought _sith_ were bad at naming things.

~*~

“ _The plan involved convincing the captured Jedi specimen - Quorian Dorjis - that his escape was genuine_ ,” explains the holo of a Sith Overseer, “ _He needed to believe he was legitimately being freed so that he could deliver the false information to the Jedi Council. We… never saw the Jedi Council take any action whatsoever, which leads me to suspect that they must have seen through our plot. I’ve delivered the recording to the Dark Council to examine it and determine if the Sith Acolyte involved in the plan is at fault. If so - we have a traitor on our hand, and if not, we have a major security leak. Overall, this was a failure that resulted in a great waste of resources and contributed to the Empire being unable to take key agri-worlds. My recommendation is that the acolyte in question be investigated._ ”

Malavai switches to the next file.

“ _Chancellor! I would like to say something!”_ Dorjis calls out. The Republic courts, Gimrizh’s trial where they sentenced her to death. He went in front of the Supreme Chancellor to defend her, he _must_ have thought she was at least an ally, possibly a friend, maybe more. “ _This - this isn’t the Jedi way, Chancellor_.”

A closer inspection of the images reveals something deeper. There’s a look exchanged between the Jedi and Gimrizh before his second sentence, like she’s pleading with him. Did he listen to whatever she was silently asking him?

His lightsaber. Gimrizh gave him back a lightsaber in the jail cells of Korriban.

Malavai’s seen that lightsaber before. He’s seen it everyday for over a year now. It’s Gimrizh’s, she wears it at her hip in every fight. She got it after running into an unnamed Jedi on Alderaan but Malavai’s certain he can now name that Jedi. It wasn’t a fight then, not if Dorjis was willing to stick his neck out for her on Coruscant. Which means it was peaceful. Dorjis gave her his weapon peacefully and it meant enough to her to keep it. To fight with it. To use it as part of her main kit.

While Malavai himself might not ascribe a good deal of personal value to weapons, he knows for a fact that Gimrizh _does_. He’s _seen_ how she is with lightsabers, the loving way she takes them apart and puts them back together, the respect she has for the weapon. She kept Dorjis’s. She didn’t change it, she didn’t get rid of it, she kept it and cared for it.

Gimrizh is not a traitor - she can’t be.

She would have told him, wouldn’t she?

The next holo file is one of the worst to watch.

“ _We’ve been so far successful at rebooting the Institute’s systems, but I suspect it shall take us more time before we can completely restore power,_ ” an overseer says to his holo, probably recording a message, given by the way he addresses whoever is on the other end, “ _I won’t be able to return to the main Academy for another few days, Eskella, so please -”_

A crash as an outside door bursts open. The man drops the holo but it keeps recording and refuses to let Malavai look away. A person staggers through the doors. It’s Gimrizh, younger than she is now by a good few years, and wearing an unassuming black uniform. And clutching a limp Mirialan girl to her chest.

“ _Please, Tremel, you have to help me, please_ ,” she begs, stumbling over to him like he’s her last hope in the entire world, “ _You have to save her, I beg you, there’s no time, help her, please-_ ”

“ _That’s the traitor girl, is it not? The one that attacked the Institute to begin with?”_

_“It’s Yaina, please, she’s a loyal sith, I know it, she’s not - just please, help her, she needs help-”_

_“Those are lightsaber burns on her face.”_

_“There’s sith alchemy - medicine - something, I read sith can fix life-threatening injuries - please, she needs help, she needs a medic, a healer -”_

_“You’ve been gone for hours. Did she try to run?”_

_“No no no, she didn’t, it’s not like that, it was just nighttime when she -”_

_“You carried a traitor back here, through the night? Acolyte, you need to be concerned for yourself right now. This girl directly attacked the Sith Order. You cannot be more concerned for the life of a traitor and Jedi sympathizer than for the safety of our Order and your home.”_

_“I don’t care about any of that! I just need you to help her!”_

_“... She’s cold.”_

Malavai can’t watch the rest of it again. Can’t watch her faint dead away as though trying to join Yaina in the afterlife.

It’s only as he grips the holo to turn it off that he realizes he’s shaking.

He needs answers and he knows exactly who sent him this - this _dossier_. That last file isn’t even the most damning, it’s just in there to unnerve him, to drag Gimrizh’s dirty secrets out through the air, even as he knows that it’s undeniable evidence against her.

“Ah,” Baras says as soon as the call connects - was the man waiting for Malavai to contact him? “Is there something I can help you with, captain?”

“Darth Baras.” He’s trying to stop himself from yelling and he’s not sure who he’s angriest at. “I assume you’re behind this. Why are you sending me this - what is it that you want?”

Is Baras pleased? Annoyed? It’s impossible to tell right now. “I thought you would want to be informed. Given how… close you are with my former apprentice. I must admit, captain, I assumed you were good at your job. This is some of your sloppiest work I’ve ever seen from you. I expected better.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I placed you on Korribanil’s crew to determine where her loyalties lay, if you recall. You did an abysmal job. A traitor right in front of you, and you never noticed? I didn’t think I’d have to do your job _for you_.”

“Lord Gimrizh isn’t - she’s not a traitor. She serves the Empire faithfully.”

He can’t judge what she’s done in her past, regardless of how he feels about it. It’s hypocritical of him, given that he joined her team to spy on her in the first place regardless of how he feels towards her now. But he missed this. Even when spying on her, he never caught this. How could he have not seen this?

“You owe me everything you have, captain,” Baras reminds him, “And I can take it away just as easily. Why defend her when your loyalties have already been decided. You picked a side within the Empire many years ago. As for Korribanil? She picked the Jedi.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You’re not an unobservant man, Quinn, nor a stupid one. Look at the evidence. Saving Jedi from prison cells, compromising Imperial plans to aid Jedi, colluding with Jedi, begging for the lives of Jedi sympathizers. You remarked on it yourself in one of your earliest reports to me, did you not? Of your concern regarding her past relationship with another acolyte who vocally disavowed the Sith Code and attacked the Empire.”

“She was young -” he tries. He tries so hard to excuse it.

“She was old enough to make her own decisions,” Baras presses. “And then, as soon as she got to the Academy, she started saving Jedi lives. On Balmorra, letting Jedi live when she could have - _should_ have killed them. In the hunt for Jaesa Willsaam, again, sparing Jedi. If you recall, I ordered Willsaam dead, I rightly thought her to be a threat. While Korribanil might have seen something of value in her - again, she persuaded me to spare the life of a Jedi. I admit, even I didn’t see her ulterior motives at the time.”

“Lord Gimrizh hates the Jedi.”

But she didn’t turn Jaesa. How did Malavai not see it? What reason would she have for sparing Jaesa? He’d thought it was because she cared about the girl, and while that does seem true now, she didn’t know the girl at the time. She didn’t know Jaesa, didn’t have any reason to care, no reason for mercy, and yet she didn’t turn her.

“And yet she works with so many of them,” Baras reminds him, “This was only the evidence I managed to find, I’m sure there’s more, given her pattern of behavior. Why are you wasting your time defending someone who’s betrayed the Empire more times than either of us can count?”

He can’t deny the facts. Gimrizh has committed multiple counts of treason. Is she still? She’s working for the Emperor because she’s afraid of the consequences if she doesn’t - he knows that. That’s not loyalty, that’s survival. She hates Thutrel, but that’s because he reminds her of Yaina. He’s seen her be cordial - friendly, perhaps - with other Jedi before.

“If it weren’t for me, you would be dead,” Baras says, slowly, like he has all the time in the world, “You pledged your loyalty to me a long time ago. Stop jeopardizing everything you have to stand behind a traitor.”

The blue image of Baras flickers out.

~*~

Foris has found a nice little place to stay in a quiet part of Voss-ka - perfect for planning an assault on the Bastion without any pubs around to overhear him. After making sure his room was soundproof, de-bugged, and the connection secure, he’d begun the holocall with the rest of Black Ops.

“Got a bunch of short range emps rigged up,” Arlos is saying, getting nervously excited in that manner of his. “I figure we can drop them as we need them, given that we’ll want to use them to black out communications when we first attack, and also to deactivate the auto weapons when we’re pushing in. They are _really_ short range though.”

They shouldn’t need more than that. “You did good, nice work,” Foris tells him. “Should be the last thing we need, so long as Lorant’s gotten us enough men.”

She nods, “I did. No need to worry about me doing my part.”

“Lorant, we are not worried about you pulling your weight, I promise,” Tanido tries to reassure her. “We’re just checking. We all know you’re the toughest fucking person in the group.”

“Sorry.” She takes a deep breath, sighs, and tries to straighten herself out. “I’m not trying to chew you lot out without reason. I just got off a call with General Rakton and… well… there’s a lot to unpack. He mentioned a lot I didn’t know - I don’t even think he meant to tell me, he was taking three different calls at the same time and I sort of overheard...”

Tanido senses gossip better than an SIS agent finds a trap to walk into. “Oh? Do tell?”

To be honest, Foris has been wondering why Corellia. It’s too deep into Republic space, they don’t need the shipyards that badly, and it’s a propaganda rallying point for the enemy. What politics made the push for this planet? “Does it impact our mission?”

“Maybe. Apparently it’s the Minister of War making the push - Rakton mentioned disagreeing with him,” Lorant admits, “I didn’t listen in much, I’m not one of those people, but it sounds like there’s kind of a split in high command. Either we take the Bastion and win Corellia, or we don’t take it and we lose the planet entirely, right? Sounds like we might lose Corellia either way. Taking the Bastion’s still important - it’s a mental blow and there’s a lot of information in its databanks that we need.”

“But it’s not as big as we thought it was,” Foris confirms.

She shrugs, “We need that information. We just have less use for the Bastion as a physical location.”

It doesn’t change what they need to do, not really. They have the manpower, they have the plan, they have the tech. They’re ready. “We continue as planned then. If we’ve got the go ahead from Rakton, then there’s nothing that’s changed for us. We all knew Corellia was a gamble, even during the first war.”

“That’s not all,” Lorant continues, this time looking more uncomfortable with the information than before. “I’m not… technically on the team. It’s still your mission, Pierce, I wouldn’t take that away from you, but I can’t serve under you even if I wanted to. Rakton gave me conditions for commandeering troops. I’m not trying to insult you, Pierce, I have a lot of respect for you, but we all know that you’re a bit of a loose cannon, as far as command is concerned.”

Of course. She’s going to be observing and reporting. “So you’re on babysitting duty.”

“Yup. Sucks, but I am. It was this, or no men at all and the entire mission called off.” She made the right choice. “Sorry.”

Foris resigns himself to being watched, “It’s fine. Nothing we can do about it.”

“So…” Tanido gestures weirdly, “Are you gonna… not be fighting with us? Just sticking in the back lines with a comm and some holos?”

Lorant snorts. “You know how good I am with a blaster. They can’t keep me off the field.”

He’d like to see them try. Lorant was krething _vicious_ in a fight back in the good old days. She was a quick draw with nasty aim. If he knows anyone who deserved to make captain, it’s her, not that stuck-up bastard he’s got to work with.

“Good to hear. Is everyone clear on our plan?” Foris surveys his team proudly. Every single one of them is damn good and he's honored to fight beside them.

Tanido nods, “All clear, boss. I need to split, there's a ship to fleet near Corellia with my name on it. It'll be good to get off this dust ball of a planet at last - get back into the swing of things. See you lot on the other side, huh?”

“I’ll double check the schematics that I've got,”Arlos says, “Signing out now.”

The two of them flicker out and it's just Foris and Lorant.

She gives him a look that's almost sad, hidden behind her sharpness. “Listen… I wanted to apologize for what I said all those years ago. When black ops had just been disbanded, it was like everything I cared about - the only family I had - it all was being destroyed around me. And I blamed you for it. While I wasn’t completely wrong, it wasn’t fair of me. I’m sorry, Pierce. You were the best leader we could have had.”

That’s all old blood, as far as he’s concerned. He stopped being pissed at her for it years ago. “I didn’t take offense. Besides, there’s a reason you made captain before I did.”

“Yeah,” she snorts, “It’s cause you flaunt the rules while I a least pretend to follow them.”

“Rude. True, but rude.”

“Good luck out there, and I’ll meet up with the team on Corellia. Don’t fuck up and get killed by that sith of yours before we can go punch the Republic in the face.”

“Are you getting soft on me, Lorant?”

“Hardly.” She gives him a smirk that’s more genuine than anything he’s ever seen from her, “See you around, boss.”

~*~

They’ve been on Voss for a number of days now and Jaesa still hasn’t found what she’s looking for. Stars, she’s not even sure what she’s looking for. This was all a terrible idea and she’s being stupid and silly and she should just go back to their hotel room and pretend she never had this stupid idea in the first place and - oh this place looks promising.

She glances around just to make sure Vette hasn’t somehow followed her and enters the tiny, upscale jewelry store.

There’s two Voss women fawning over a stunning crystal necklace on display, and behind the counter is a human woman and a Voss man.

Jaesa meanders pointlessly around for a minute, awing at the bracelets and the earrings, working up the courage to actually get down to what she came here for. After staring at a silver filigree pendant, she finally works her way, slowly but surely, over to a case full of engagement rings.

It’s almost hard to know where to start, everything’s so beautiful and shining and it’s easy for her to become distracted or nervous. _Gold_ , she thinks, _It has to be gold_. That’s one thing she remembers from Alderaan. Gold is for marriage, what her mother always used to say. Silver for name day, gold for marriage, bronze for title.

She’s staring at a set of crystal rings when the woman behind the counter asks her, “Can I help you with something?”

Jaesa jumps, “Oh, no, I mean… yes?”

The woman looks her up and down and Jaesa can sense her realizing exactly what Jaesa’s here for. “Ah. Buying a proposal ring? I was just as nervous when I proposed to my husband,” she remarks, smiling at the Voss man who’s fiddling with one of the cabinets. “Do you have a design in mind, or are you looking for a custom order? We do those as well, but Voss law prevents us from shipping off world without some pretty heavy tariffs.”

“Um,” Jaesa reaches into her pocket and pulls out a full color holo projector, “I suppose… I’m looking for something that’ll match these?”

The image is of a set of gold _lekkan-ar_ , the jewelry that traditionally adorns a Twi’lek’s headdress when they get married. She’d been very careful to do her research, mostly looking things up on the holonet and only occasionally asking Vette, so as not to make her suspect what Jaesa’s up to. This set of jewelry is a traditional large hoop, decorated with a beautiful pattern of shining, opalescent stones.

“Oh, lovely!” The woman exclaims. “Do you already have these bought then?”

Jaesa freezes, “Um. No? Not… uh, not yet?”

This doesn’t seem to matter as much to the saleswoman, as she’s already pulling selections out from the cases, “Well, you should really get on that then, shouldn’t you?” she says teasingly, “Now, you’re looking for gold to match those gold hoops then, yes? I have some ring sets that come with synth-opals, it should be a _lovely_ match up, I assure you, although I could say that with more surety if you’d brought those _lekkan-ar_ with you.”

Well that would be a bit difficult, as getting them is actually part of Jaesa’s proposal.

There’s a number of ring sets on the counter, each one stunning and beautiful but… they’re all too delicate. The metal is too ornate, the stones jut out so much - they’d catch on something and they wouldn’t survive any punching or fighting. Jaesa’s not going to get Vette an impractical ring, not with the lifestyle they lead. “Do you have anything… sturdier?”

“Sturdy?” the woman confirms, raising an eyebrow.

Jaesa nervously wrings out her hands, “Well… I’m a Sith - er, so - I mean, I do a bit of fighting. My girlfriend does as well. I don’t want something that would get in the way or be damaged. Or anything that we’d always be taking off.”

“Hmmmm… I think I have some options. One moment.” She bustles off to the back and returns with a velvet lined box containing three different ring sets. “We just got these in this past week, and I wasn’t going to display them for a while, but they do seem like a good fit, don’t they?”

These are flat, simple gold bands with different shapes of opal inlaid into the surface to form patterns. It’s gorgeous, and when Jaesa touches it, also completely smooth. No change to snag or catch on anything. One pair draws her attention. The opal inlay is just a simple bar on top, no fancy design or pattern, just a strip of iridescent color. She imagines a shocked, breathlessly happy look on Vette’s face as her lover slides the ring on her finger.

She gently rests her fingertips over the ring set, “These two.”

“Good choice,” the saleswoman agrees, “Let me just size your finger quickly. And do you know your girlfriend’s ring size?”

Jaesa surrenders her finger to a tiny sizer that fits a holographic ring around her finger and then spits out a corresponding number. “Vette’s fingers are just a little bit smaller than mine. Maybe one size down?”

“Alright. This pair is pretty close in size, let me just take them into the back really quickly to cut out the excess gold and fit them.” The woman takes the case back and vanishes into an employee only door.

About ten minutes of Jaesa chewing her fingernails later, she’s greeted with a perfectly fitted set.

The saleswoman puts them into a small, pocket-sized box before charging Jaesa an exorbitant amount of credits that seems completely worth it.

She’s going to propose to Vette. Oh stars.

~*~

There’s something so… _Korriban_ about the Shrine of Healing.

It’s no desert, no tomb in the sands, but Gimrizh can _feel_ it in the force. As she walks through the Valley of Serenity she can feel the winds of the force tugging at her, pulling her towards the shrine. It doesn’t loom over her like some of the Korriban shrines, and it doesn’t feel insidious like some Jedi do. It’s welcoming. It’s greeting a traveller after a long journey with the promise of rest.

The Shrine itself is as big as - if not bigger than the tombs on Korriban. It’s built into a mountain, or it _is_ the mountain, and Gimrizh has to crane her neck looking upwards to try and see how high up the carved gateway ends. She’s always been short, but now she truly feels like an ant staring up at a giant.

She’d left her speeder back by an Imperial outpost at the edge of the Valley. The Voss must approach on foot, and even as an outsider she’d had to do the same.

Although it had seemed an annoyance at first, there’s something about making the journey on her own that she appreciates. The wind on her face, the earth beneath her feet, the scent of the gold grass in the sun. It creates a feeling of real immersion in her surroundings, it grounds her as she approaches the Shrine.

She slips in with a group of Voss entering the Shrine, passing the honor guard silently and without trouble. Are all outsiders welcomed as such? She knows that neither the Sith nor the Jedi Orders would allow anyone but initiates into their places of knowledge and power. These places would be kept secret, guarded and precious. Any outsider wouldn’t understand the significance, it’d wouldn’t be important to them. Of course, spies are also such an issue for the two factions that it’d be stupid to allow civilians into places of force power.

So it’s with a great respect and curiosity that she walks through the Shrine.

The ceilings stretch up into infinity it seems, the shadowed corridors lit by crystalline green lights that hang from pillars and outcrop from the rock as if they were grown, rather than built. It’s quiet in here too, only low murmurs from nearby Voss and the sounds of footsteps. A place like this should echo but instead sound seems muffled here. Even the enforced silence doesn’t feel imposed. It just seems natural.

“Are you looking for someone?” A woman asks her.

It’s a Voss with purple-ish skin and blue eyes dressed in travelling clothes. Gimrizh recognizes her as one of the people she’d entered the Shrine with, when she’d slipped in with a group. What’s she being friendly for. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get in your way.”

The Voss smiles, “It’s a bit large, isn’t it? Easy to get lost in. Not many outsiders come here. What are you looking for?”

“A blessing of oneness, whatever that is.”

“Oh. I see. Whether or not you get it will be up to the mystics, did you know? It’s not something often given to outsiders unless they pass a test of the mystic’s choosing.”

“I intend to get it, whatever I might need to do in return. I’m not allowed to fail at this.”

“I’m sorry,” the Voss apologies. She walks off towards one of the massive stair cases, “Come, follow. I can show you to Vana Xo. She can bestow such a blessing, if she finds you worthy of it.”

Gimrizh follows her. It’s not like she has much of a choice. This place is so large, so sprawling, that she could spend years in here and never find her way. It might be an interesting expedition, but she doesn’t _have_ years. The Hand wouldn’t accept such delay. “Thank you for your help, it’s appreciated. Why are you here?”

“I was given word that my lover was injured in a Gormak raid. She’s recovering right now,” the woman admits, sadness creeping into her faceted eyes, “The Voss have great faith in the mystics, but it is difficult not to be worried. Once I see her again, I know my concern shall be alleviated.”

The Voss speak in an odd way, formal, with unusual tonal patterns. Is that how they learned Basic, or is it a translation problem? “Do Voss have their own language? I noticed that everyone here speaks Basic.”

The woman nods, “We do. Basic was introduced to Voss… oh, about five hundred years ago, but it’s not something we speak for outsiders. It’s become our day language, whereas _Isshlan_ is our dark language - used for secrets and night names. Issh means whispers, you understand, and words ending with -lan imply speech.”

“Night names?”

“Voss can have a secondary name given to them by the mystics. It’s a ritual of self-discovery that reveals a deeper name.” The woman smiles again, this time like she’s letting Gimrizh in on a secret, “Outsiders can go through the process of finding their night name, if the mystics decide they’re worthy. If you wished, you could be granted that same honor.”

It’s an interesting idea. “Thank you for the offer. Maybe I’ll ask Vana Xo.”

“You should,” she advises, coming to a stop in front of a arched doorway, “The one you seek is through here. Good luck in your ventures, outsider.”

Gimrizh thanks her again before stepping inside the smaller room.

It’s a sick bay, a few inured Voss lying on stone beds as a woman in pale white robes tends to them one by one. There’s an embroidered gold symbol on the back of her cowl that resembles a hand, held out with an open palm. A healer symbol, perhaps? She hasn’t seen other Voss adorned as such.

“Excuse me,” she says quietly, carefully approaching the woman, “Are you Vana Xo?”

The Voss looks up at her, “Yes, I am. Can I assist you, outsider?”

“I require the blessing of oneness. Am I interrupting something?”

Vana Xo hums and glances back down at her sleeping patient, “My energy stabilizes the ailing. If you want the Blessing of Oneness, then I shall ask for your assistance as payment. You are not Voss - the Blessing bestows privilege. You must earn it. You are what outsiders call a force user, yes?”

“I’m sith, if that’s what you mean.”

“Give me your strength. I shall use it to heal this man and I shall consider that payment for the Blessing.”

Gimrizh thinks about what she’s said. It sounds like a sith theory that she’s only ever read about - a transfer of force energy from one person to another. Some sith theorized that this could be a way to resurrect the dead, by sacrificing one’s life essence in payment, to preserve the balance of the force. It’s never yielded successful results in testing however, despite Gimrizh’s thorough research into the subject. “Let me get this straight. You want to take my energy, and give it to your patient.”

“Yes. I won’t need much, just enough to close the wound on his side. We’ve put him into deep sleep, which should aid the process. I swear it, this will not harm you.”

“You don’t need to knock me out for this, do you?”

“No, that will not be necessary.”

“... Fine then. I’ll do it.”

If there’s no other way to complete the Hand’s request, then she’ll do it. Her choices are limited, and it doesn’t sound too bad. There could be something worse in store for her if she refuses, some stranger, or more painful test the Voss mystics come up with.

At Vana Xo’s beckoning, Gimrizh holds out her hands. The Voss takes them and places them on top of the unconscious patient’s chest.

“This will take but a moment,” Vana Xo assures her, before closing her eyes.

Gimrizh can suddenly sense the Voss woman’s presence in the force and it’s a shock. Vana Xo isn’t light or dark, she’s just… there. Neutral, leaning neither to one side or the other. It’s not a _bad_ feeling, it’s just so alien. So unexpected. Gimrizh doesn’t understand how the woman’s using the force at all without one of the two approaches to it at first but when she lets Vana Xo start taking her energy it falls into place.

It’s balanced, it’s neutral, it’s… stable. The Voss haven’t picked a side because to them there _aren’t_ sides. As the Voss woman works to sap a bit of Gimrizh’s force energy, for that brief moment of immersion, Gimrizh almost can’t remember what the light side or the dark side felt like. This… greyness feels like a cleanse.

And then Vana Xo finishes and Gimrizh snaps back to the familiarity of the dark side of the force.

She staggers backwards, “How do you - how do you use the force like that? That wasn’t aligned, it wasn’t anything, it…”

“That’s a secret of the Voss mystics,” Vana Xo informs her, checking the patient before stepping back. “You are not Voss, you are not a mystic. If you want to know more about our ways, you will have to give much in return. Pass many trials. Spend years earning the trust of the Voss. If you aren’t willing or able to do that, then I can tell you nothing about our ways.”

For just a split second, Gimrizh is tempted. It’s not worth it. She doesn’t have time for that. It’s intriguing, to be sure, another mystery to be discovered, but Gimrizh has chosen her side. Her loyalties already lie with the Sith Order, with the dark side. That’s where her only family is, the only community she feels any loyalty to. She was raised on the dark side of the force. It goes against her deepest convictions to just… _abandon_ it.

“Fine then. I don’t care,” she lies, “Just give me the blessing, if you please.”

“Certainly.” Vana Xo leads her to the side of the room, away from the other patients. “Stand still please.”

With the tip of her finger, Vana Xo traces a symbol onto Gimrizh’s forehead, right below where her horns rest. There’s a warmth in the force - like a cloud wrapping itself around Gimrizh’s mind, a comforting presence.

Of course. If there’s some sort of force nexus around this Dark Heart that’s strong enough, it could manipulate the mind, bring about insanity or confusion. A force shield around the mind could repel that. Regrettably, it’s not something Gimrizh thinks she could do herself. Her talents don’t lie in that area of the force. Jaesa, perhaps, could replicate the effects, but there’s no chance that Gimrizh could.

Vana Xo looks winded after, “The Blessing is bestowed.”

“Thank you.” Gimrizh turns to leave, pauses, and then looks back, “One more thing, if I may? I was told that the Voss have… night names. And that I could, if I wanted, go about finding my own.”

Vana Xo just blinks at her, “You could. It is possible. The payment for that would not even be too steep. But why? You already have yours.”

“What? No, I don’t. I don’t understand.”

“I’m a scholar of languages, as well as a healer. You are Zabrak, are you not? Zabrak’s night names are always the same as their day names. I could translate yours into _Isshlan_ if you like, but it wouldn’t be new.”

“My _name_ has meaning?”

“... You don’t know this?”

“I… I don't know anything about what it means to be a Zabrak. I don’t know what my name means, I don’t know my culture, I never knew anything about this.”

There’s pity in the Voss woman’s eyes, and Gimrizh hates it for being there. “What’s your name, outsider?”

“Gimrizh. Gimrizh Korribanil, but that just means “child of Korriban”. All Korriban-raised wards of the Sith Order have that surname. I don’t… I don’t know who named me. I don’t even know if that’s the name I was born with.”

“It was. Gimrizh is Iridonian. Gim, on its own, can mean fire, or star, or even wild. Rizh, as an ending, means untamed. Your name means forest fire, or wildfire. Iridonia is a dry planet, mountainous and heavily forested, with droughts that last months at a time. _Gimrizh_ can destroy whole swaths of land, turn mountains into pyres. It’s a powerful name. In _Isshlan_ , you would be _Akkna’rath_.”

Is that what her parents, whoever they might have been, wanted from her? The strength to destroy? Or the strength to never be tamed? She supposes she’ll never know. “Thank you. I… never knew.”

“I am glad that I could be of assistance to you,” Vana Xo says, “Go in peace, and remember, respect Voss.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that…”

~*~

If Lucian weren’t standing upright, he’d be falling asleep. Hm, actually _no_. If he weren’t wearing these really uncomfortable, new officers boots, then he’d be nodding off more than he already is. Being an aid for Ovech is exactly as boring as he’d anticipated.

Screw Malavai and his stupid secrecy and his stupid habit of getting into way more trouble with authority than he should. And he calls _Lucian_ the troublemaker of the family. When Lucian gets into a little bit of a problem with the law, it’s usually for flying over the speed limit. When _Malavai_ runs into trouble, it’s sith bullshit, or a moff that he’s pissed off, or a host of other, very very deadly things. Comparatively, Lucian’s pretty mild.

“Ille!” Lucian perks up as soon as his friend, former wingman, and current ‘person also stuck in hell’ walks into Ovech’s office.

Ille nods at him in greeting, “Sup, Lucy.”

“Is there news? Is there dramatic, juicy gossip? Is there anything other than some boring crap to deal with?” Lucian tries for his most winning smile in an attempt to pry a joke out of his Chiss friend.

“‘Fraid not. Got a stack of forms for Ovech’s review, and there’s been a new notice from Dromund Kaas. Ovech got the promotion - officially, that is. We knew he’d get it, but this the actual word on the subject.”

“Oh thank the force - does that mean we can go back to the field?”

“Unfortunately not. I… I’ve been informed that Ovech has to return to Kaas City to sign the paperwork that promotes him to moff.” Ille shrugs, “So it’ll be awhile before we can get back to our fighters.”

Lucian wants to find a nice stretch of wall and bang his head against it, “Damn it. And I was _so_ looking forward to flying again.”

~*~

 _Thud_ \- _whack_.

Jaesa gets to her feet and returns her hands to a guard position. Her ribs are going to ache tomorrow morning but it’s all worth it. Anything to improve.

“Keep your hands higher,” Pierce tells her, gesturing with his own loose fists, “Gotta keep your face protected.”

She nods, lifts her hands, and returns to circling him. They’ve commandeered one of the training mats at an Imperial gym in Voss-ka. A couple other sith are going at it with practice sabers down at the other end of the gymnasium, and there’s a few officers behind the closed glass doors of a shooting range. It’s a very nice facility for just an outpost on Voss, although to be honest, everything in Voss-ka seems quite upscale.

“Not to seem rude,” Pierce comments after they exchange a couple of blows, “but I wasn’t expecting you to take me up on my offer.”

Jaesa ducks one of his punches, “You _did_ offer. I need to get stronger. You were right earlier, I can’t keep relying on others to have my back or to keep me safe. I must have the power to protect myself on my own. I refuse to be a liability to my master or to the crew -” He tries to deck her in the face and she has to bring her forearm up to block. “- and I need enough strength to be restrained.”

He nods, “Restraint is important. Gotta know when not to hit.”

Hit - block - return to circling. She’s lightly stepping on the balls of her feet, keeping moving. “I need to defend myself without killing my enemies.”

She needs to learn from her past mistakes before she can attempt to reach out to light-leaning sith again. If another attacks her out of self-preservation, then she needs the skills to disarm them without harming them. Never again will she kill someone on accident. If her intent truly is to make allies, then she needs to improve her skills.

“Sounds good,” Pierce remarks, “How’s Vette?”

 _Smack_.

His fist lands straight in her gut - she was too distracted after his last question to pay attention, which was probably his point.

Jaesa has to take a moment to cough and get her breath back.

“Pay more attention,” he tells her.

It takes her a bit, but she gets back up, puts her fists up, and nods at him to continue, “Vette’s… doing better. There’s a lot for her to deal with right now, and to be honest, she’s not sure how she feels or how she _should_ feel. But she’s dealing with it on her own terms, on her own time, and that’s what’s best for her. All I can do right now is be there for her and let her know that I’m here when she needs me.”

“You’re good for her - she’s good for you, I respect that -” Pierce stops and grabs her wrists, “No, for fucks sake, keep your hands up. You’re gonna injure yourself.”

She hastily apologizes and fixes her mistake, “And you? I know you’re making plans with your team.”

“Yep. Everything’s just about ready. Need to wrap up here before I get permission from the boss to take off.”

There’s a lot of pride in him - proud of his team, of his work, and proud of the Empire. Excitement too, he’s looking forward to this. She has a great deal of respect for the lieutenant and his skills. It’ll be sad to part ways with him after his success. “And after you take the Bastion, what will your team do next?”

Pierce stops, “Hold on. You think I’m quitting Lord Gimrizh’s crew after this?”

“You’re _not_?”

“Hells no. I like it here. Don’t get missions this weird on any other team. It’s always a change of pace - and I’m not a fan of monotony.” He’s being sincere. She’d just assumed he’d leave, but if he’s not, she’ll welcome his continued presence.

She can’t help smiling at him, “Good. I quite like having you around, lieutenant.”

He rolls his eyes, but she can tell he's not annoyed, “Fucking… just call me Pierce. You dumb kid.”

~*~

“Your kind have a sense of entitlement,” Biddeck-Va says, “It is unearned.”

Gimrizh is out of patience. She was out of patience three Gormak chieftains ago. A bomb explodes about forty feet away from them and that is force-damned _it_. “You have _got_ to be fucking kidding me! I do your job for you - kill all these damn Gormak that I don’t give a shit about for you - and you say I’m entitled?”

Biddek-Va grabs a rocket launcher from one of the Voss commandos nearby and returns fire. “It’s only a charm, and you are an outsider-”

“I don’t care! We are in a _war_ zone!”

“The leader of the Gormak must die before I shall consider -”

“Shut up and give me your stupid fucking bone necklace!”

~*~

Rycus Kilran is not an unreasonable man, nor one particularly prone to backstabbing or other such moves that might compromise the Empire. He also has - or at least, had - great respect for the Minister of War. The man’s leadership was responsible for many a victory during the last conflict with the Republic, and the Empire was better off with him at the helm. At the very least, Rycus isn’t doing this to increase his own power.

As a reasonable man, he gives the Minister one last chance.

“Leave Corellia,” he says, for what must be the hundredth time. He stands in front of the Minister’s desk at Strategic Command - he’s doing this in person. The Minister deserves that one last bit of respect, at least.

The Minister just glances at him before looking back down at a report, “Kilran, we have been over this. We can’t pull out of Corellia.”

“We’re wasting resources every day we remain.” He argues the point again. One last chance. For old times sake. “We’ll never take Corellia, it’s too close to the core and we’re fighting too many battles in the mid rim. We’ve spread our forces too thin. The Empire has it’s own shipyards - bomb Corellia’s and leave. Take the manufacturing information from the planet and pull out before we lose the entire war trying to take one insignificant planet.”

“... If that’s all you have to say?”

The Minister of War started his career in Imperial Intelligence. That’s why he’s lacking a name beyond his title, why he pushed for the expansion of their intelligence programs, and one of the reasons why Rycus respects him. The Minister should know better. This isn’t just a debate, this is a trial and the Minister should recognize that.

Rycus sighs, “I know you had to give up Corellia after the Treaty of Coruscant, but the situations that allowed us to take the planet during the last war do not exist now. You’ve succumbed to your own pride - the pitfall of all great men.”

“I’m doing this for the Empire,” the Minister declares, getting to his feet and slamming his hands down on his desk, “Kilran, I suggest you leave and return to your post. We don’t have the time to argue this out when there’s a war going on. You’re so concerned about wasting Imperial resources, after all.”

Then the Minister has lost. Or, to be more accurate, the Empire has lost the Minister.

“And _I’m_ doing this for the Empire.”

The Minister opens his mouth as if to ask what Rycus means but before he can say anything, the Chiss woman drops her stealth shield.

She appears as if from thin air, stuffs a cloth gag into the Minister’s mouth, slams her knee into his back, pushing him down onto the table, all in one smooth movement. There’s a syringe in her hand. She flips it around and stabs the Minister in the neck, injecting the full dose of amber colored liquid. After it’s emptied, she pulls it out and slaps a kolto patch over the small hole from the injection.

The Minister screams through the gag, glaring at Rycus.

“That chemical that she just dosed you with will induce a heart attack,” Rycus informs him, “The kolto will ensure that the injection site heals before you die - I don’t want anyone to suspect that this was more than an unfortunate accident. Had you listened, had you more concern for the good of the Empire than for your pride, we could have avoided this. I had the utmost respect for you, Minister, and it truly saddens me that it had to come to such extreme measures.”

The Chiss woman grabs her blaster by the barrel and slams it into the Minister’s head, knocking him unconscious. Satisfied that he’s out, she removes the gag.

“He won’t wake up,” she says calmly.

Not in time to save himself, no. “Pity. He was an admirable strategist during the first war.”

She shrugs, holstering her blaster and wiping her fingerprints off the Minister’s jacket, “It doesn’t matter much to me. I didn’t fight in the first war. Regardless, my work for you is done. The letters concerning Raina Temple, if you don’t mind.”

It isn’t as though Rycus could safely keep them even if he wanted to. He doubts she’d be amenable to his continued ransom of them. “As promised.”

He removes the envelope from his jacket pocket and hands them over to her. In a second, she’s snatched them up and hidden them out of sight.

“Can’t say it was pleasant working with you,” she remarks. She gives the office one last sweep before leaving. “Oh, and Kilran? If you ever attempt to lay a hand on my crew again - if you ever attempt to blackmail me or mine again, it will be you lying in the Minister’s place. Do keep that in mind if you ever want to use my services again.”

“Certainly.”

Regardless of her threat, he’s already _in_ the Minister’s place now.

~*~

Malavai has fucked up.

He was a fool to think that he could escape Baras, to think that Baras would just let him go, that he could somehow ignore the debt he owes Baras.

 _“We’ll be near Dromund Kaas for the next month or so, Ovech says,_ ” the recording of Lucian cheerfully informs him, “ _Something something, new rules, blah blah, has to be in Kaas City to sign shit to promote him to Moff_. _I didn’t listen. Next time you’re back on good old D.K. send me a line, tell me everything…”_

Malavai’s already lost.

Baras has won the game before Malavai even realized they were playing.

Of course the first move Baras would make would be to secure Lucian. He doesn’t even need to make a threat, there’s no need for an overt show of power. Just a simple move, trusting in Lucian to carry the message and Malavai to understand the significance. No threats. Just a reminder. Part of the deal Malavai made with Darth Baras, all those years ago, was based on a desire to secure Lucian’s safety. As Baras said during their call, he gave Malavai everything, and he can take it all away just as easily.

He can’t sacrifice his brother. Not for himself, not… not to protect a traitor. Even a possible traitor.

But he can’t kill Gimrizh. Even if he truly wanted to - he can’t. Despite everything, despite the undeniable proof of her treason, he loves her. He gives more of a damn about her than he’s ever given about himself. He can’t sacrifice his brother to save Gimrizh and yet he can’t bring himself to sacrifice Gimrizh to save his brother. Neither of them can die. But both of them can’t live.

It’s Baras who calls this time.

As Malavai sits in the emptiness of _Horizon_ , thinking in circles, Baras calls.

“I trust you’ve had time to review this new information,” Baras begins, his voice echoing through the ship’s halls. “Do you have any confusion about where your loyalties lie, captain?”

Reluctantly, inevitably, Malavai drops to one knee, “No, my lord.”

“Good,” Baras practically purrs with contentment, “I’m glad that you’ve come to your senses. Your next task should be obvious. When I placed you on my former apprentice’s crew I told you that your task was to observe her, which you failed, given that you never realized her treason. To correct her should she falter, which you failed to do. And to kill her, should she prove to be a traitor. You will not fail me a third time.”

“No, my lord, I will not,” Malavai replies, the words rattling around his skull.

Baras pauses, “Good. But you are still one human against a powerful sith - and the most well placed agent I currently have. I’m not wasting you. My apprentice, Lord Draagh, will be in touch. I expect you to work together to destroy Korribanil. Either do your duty to the Empire or die trying, captain.”

“I understand, my lord.”

The call cuts and Malavai is left trying to figure his way out of this. He paces back and forth across the durasteel floor, trying to slow his thoughts to the beat of his footsteps.

His heart’s racing, he feels sick - he can’t do this, he can’t kill Gimrizh, he can’t kill _Lucian_ \- Calm down. He can’t think about this emotionally,  he _can’t_ \- he has to be calm. He has to be rational. _Think_.

What, realistically, are his options?

Scenario one. He tells Gimrizh, refuses to work with Draagh, refuses to work for Baras. Even if Gimrizh doesn’t kill him for his betrayal, then Baras will find out and kill Lucian. Lucian’s on Dromund Kaas, even if both Malavai and Baras react at the same time, there’s no way that they can get to Imperial space fast enough.

Scenario two. He goes along with Baras and Draagh. They kill Gimrizh. Lucian lives, but Gimrizh dies. As much as Malavai is bound by duty, he can’t live with himself if he kills Gimrizh. Even if he just stands by while Draagh does the deed, it’s unacceptable to him - and he doubts that Draagh would accept such a lack of participation on his end.

Scenario three. He works with Draagh, but engineers it so that Gimrizh comes out victorious. No, shit, if he does that, then Baras will not accept Malavai’s continued survival. Which means it has the same problems as the first scenario - Baras would kill Lucian for Malavai’s failure.

They can’t get out of this without someone dying.

Either Gimrizh or Lucian, but Malavai can’t - he can’t kill either of them.

Gimrizh is a traitor. He can’t just let her walk free without trying. It’s his duty to stand in the way of traitors and he cannot abandon that because he happened to be stupid enough to fall in love with one. He can’t _not_ stand against her and he can’t kill her. He’s going to betray her, no matter what else he does. That was, as much as he hates to admit it, a given since the moment he found out she’d betrayed the Empire.

So he can’t let her go because she’s a traitor. He can’t kill her because he loves her. And he can’t let her live because that would kill Lucian.

He stops pacing, his sweaty hands gripping the edge of the holo. There’s a choice that must be made.

Gimrizh dies - no, Lucian - how could he even think that, Lucian’s _his brother_ \- no, Gimrizh - he can’t, he _loves_ her more than - Of those two, one of them must die -

Unless he’s been thinking about this all wrong. There aren’t two people in this equation, there are _three_.

He’s been forgetting to count himself. If he stands against Gimrizh and she wins, but he dies, then Baras wouldn’t be motivated to kill Lucian. Malavai would have done as Baras asked and died in the line of duty. He owes Baras his life and he would give that to him.

Malavai is, after all, just a game piece, and a relatively insignificant one at that. A pawn that someone is trying to shove across the board.

Baras is motivated by himself - he plays a game of chess where he’s made himself the king, the piece that he sacrifices all else for. If Malavai makes a sacrifice play, Baras wouldn’t see it because it’s an inconceivable move in Baras’ mind. He wouldn’t take his revenge out on Lucian, he’d be focused enough on Gimrizh to defend against her, and not angry enough at Malavai’s continued survival to lash out.

Scenario four. Malavai stands with Draagh against Gimrizh. Gimrizh kills them both. Gimrizh lives. Lucian lives.

If Gimrizh _did_ betray the Empire in the fullest sense of the word, and _is_ still a traitor to the Empire, then she’ll be revealed in front of the entire Dark Council when she tries to take her position as Wrath. And Malavai will have died doing his duty to the Empire, standing in the way of a traitor. If she was confused, mislead, if she’s still loyal to the Empire, then the Dark Council will side with her. And Malavai will have died securing the life of the woman he loves.

That’s his win.

~*~

The Nightmare Lands are aptly named.

A seemingly endless forest of twisting, gnarled trees with no clear path through and no clear way out. Gimrizh can feel the force here too, but it’s creeping, like mist across the ground, trying to seep into her mind. What a shocking nexus of force power. It hits the wall around her mind that the blessing provides and she’d be in worse trouble if she didn’t have it. She offers Vana Xo a silent thanks.

The maze of forest and the invasive force here would be bad enough without the giant mega-fauna that stalk through the trees - always far enough away that she never catches a clear glimpse of them, but close enough that she can hear their footsteps and the shifting of their massive bodies.

She cautiously approaches the ruined temple that is the Dark Heart, crouching behind a tree before taking her first steps towards it. It looks deserted, silent, and still. Her hearts are pounding - she’s terrified. There must be _something_ out there. Something lying in wait for her in this temple.

Is all she’s feeling the sheer power of the Emperor’s Voice? Just that shadow of power that makes her want to flee?

Eventually, she has no choice but to get up and shakily approach the temple. Once she steps through the arched doorway, an unnatural chill washes over her. It’s a clear message from this place - she’s not supposed to be here.

As she walks through the Dark Heart, she can hear vague noises from other hallways, other doors. Growls, the sounds of animals scratching at stone, footsteps that are clearly bipedal. Occasionally, a muffled scream that sounds so far away that she almost thinks she didn’t hear it properly. She can hear breathing too, like someone’s standing right behind her.

“Fuck this stupid fucking place,” she mutters under her breath. No wonder the Voss avoid going near it.

She’s deep in when she comes to the door that Madaga-ru specified.

This place feels _old_ , forbidden. The lock in the set of doors is shaped like the bone pendant, and unlike the rest of this place, it’s clean. No cobwebs, a coating of dust that’s lighter than anything else here. Someone’s been here recently. The Voice can’t have been trapped here for very long. A month, perhaps? Maybe two, but not much more.

Gimrizh places the pendant in its lock and a terrible thought occurs to her. If the Emperor’s Voice has only been trapped here for such a short period of time, then… The Emperor has been silent practically since the Treaty of Coruscant. He’s not been trapped that whole time. He’s just… been silent. For no reason she can see. How long has the Dark Council been leading without any oversight from the Emperor? Without anyone noticing?

It’s almost a relief when the doors open and reveal a massive chamber with a Voss man chained the floor.

She rushes to the Voice’s side, “My master. What is your will?”

“Wrath…” The Voice lifts his head, “The Emperor is with me, but I cannot reach him, I cannot hear his words clearly enough to speak them.”

“I’m sorry. How did you get down here?”

“An apprentice of Baras trapped me here - a trickster.” He shows her a close view of the handcuffs. Both his hands and feet are chained down, allowing him little to no movement. “The apprentice left me here, knowing I could not leave on my own and that the rest of the Voss avoid the Dark Heart - I would be trapped here without hope of rescue. He had me in chains while the Emperor was not speaking through me and I could not fight.”

“That’d be Draagh,” she remarks, “He fooled me too. Hold on, let me get you out of here so that you can hear the Emperor again.”

She draws her lightsaber, striking down on the chains that bind his hands - the blade sparks as it hits and then glances off.

That’s no durasteel - that’s cortosis.

Force suppressing cortosis cuffs? Baras must have really been desperate. That’s a combination that would cost a fortune. Shit. No wonder the Voice is cut off from the Emperor, he can’t use the force or properly connect to it with these on. Gimrizh can’t break the chains herself, the only way would be for them to somehow brute force them off, but she’s not strong enough for that and she doubts the Voice is either - he’s a thin, spindly man.

“I… I can’t get you out,” she admits.

The Voice nods, “I have already tried. It is impossible for me to leave. And while I remain alive, the Emperor is tied to me and cannot find another Voice.”

“Tell me what to do.”

“Kill me.”

She can’t just kill the Emperor! Or, the not-currently possessed Voice of the Emperor. Basically, just a Voss stranger right now. Actually, that’s very doable. The Hand can’t fault her for obeying the instructions of the Voice.

Gimrizh flips her lightsaber around and drives it through the Voice’s heart. “As you command.”

“Th...ank you…”

He dies in front of her and as his life leaves him, she can feel the massive power of the Emperor’s presence dissipate. It overwhelms her senses for a moment before it passes, leaving her alone in the middle of the Dark Heart.

~*~

Vette’s feeling a bit closer to her old self as she and Jaesa troop back to the spaceport to meet up with the rest of the crew. Having a long stretch of vacation with which to just unwind has been so helpful. It didn’t solve what she’s been feeling in regards to Tivva, or her mother, but it’s removed a lot of the little stress in her life.

As soon as she sees _Horizon_ she drops her bag. Her jaw hits the ground. “Where the shit did the fishbowls go?”

“The fishbowls?” Gimrizh asks, stopping in the middle of loading a supply crate onto the ship, “What are you talking about? We never kept any pets onboard _Horizon_.”

She gestures to the edges of the ship, “The gun turrets! Our beautiful fishbowls! They’re _gone_ \- this is horrible. What did you do to them? See, this is why I need to supervise captain stuffy, because otherwise he does this horrible damage to our majestic fishbowls - I don’t care if this is new regulation or whatever, those were _vintage_!”

“We upgraded to bridge-based targeting guns,” Gimrizh reminds her. “It was in the file I gave you. You could have bothered to read it.”

“I didn’t think the damage could possibly be this terrible!”

Jaesa - bless her - consolingly pats her on the back. “It’ll be okay. I’m sure you’ll come to like the new weapons system in time.”

“But what if I hate them?”

“Get over it,” Gimrizh grumbles, rolling her eyes in a way that Vette knows means secret fondness. “Now let’s get inside - Quinn and Pierce are already onboard and we should leave - who knows where the Hand will send us next. And I need to report on the mission success here here as well. I hope that there’s not much more they need me to do.”

Vette feels bad for Gimrizh. Her friend clearly wants this to be over and done with, while also being so afraid of finally facing Baras. It sucks, but there’s not really much Vette can do to help with that. They’ve all got their own problems and this one is pretty damn internalized on Gimrizh’s part. “Yeah, yeah,” she sighs, “Fine, I’ll stop lamenting the tragic loss of our incredible fishbowls - they served us well.”

Gimrizh just kicks a supply crate in her direction, “Jaesa, please help your girlfriend get this onboard - it’s the last of the supplies.”

“Sure, master.” Jaesa picks up the crate with one hand and grabs Vette’s bag with the other.

They head in, Jaesa peeling off to the medbay to drop the supply crate, and Vette taking their stuff and heading to their room. _Horizon_ still looks the same inside, which is a relief, and there haven’t been any tragic changes to her and Jaesa’s room.

Vette drop their bags on the bed. They’ve started sleeping in one bed and using the other as a catch-all, for the laundry that’s technically Jaesa’s responsibility and the all the trash that Vette doesn’t feel like gathering up and dropping in the disposal. She stretches out on the bed like a loth cat, kicking her boots off and reaching under the bunk for a pair of fluffy slippers. Vacation is nice, but it feels good to be back home.

That might be one of the fundamental problems, she thinks. She has a home. _Horizon_ has been her home for over a year now, but Tivva doesn’t have a home. She had Darun’s cantina on Nar Shaddaa for only a brief while - she doesn’t really have somewhere to go back to. She might want to make Tatooine into her home - even though it’d be a shit one.

As much as she might want it to be otherwise, Vette can’t find a home for Tivva. Her sister has to do that on her own.

And it’s people that make a home.

Jaesa knocks on the door, “Want to find out where we’re going next?”

“Oh. Yeah, hold on.” Vette slides into her pink fluffy slippers and heads out to join Jaesa in the hallway. “Gim’s calling the Hand?”

It’s a question that doesn’t need to be answered as they step into the communications room, hanging to the back so that the holo’s sensor doesn’t pick them up. Gimrizh kneels before the weird two sith that comprise the Hand. Pierce is in the back as well, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, and Quinn is lingering in the doorway to the bridge.

“The Wrath returns,” Servant Two begins - what a strange fucking way to talk, honestly. It’s like he’s _trying_ to be dramatic.

Gimrizh, wisely, doesn’t comment on it. “I have completed my mission on Voss. The Voice of the Emperor has been freed - he commanded me to kill him so that the Emperor could find a new host.”

“Good. Preparations are being made to secure a new host, but the rituals take time.” Servant One - the one that actually makes sense - informs them. “You have done well, Wrath. The Emperor is pleased.”

“Thank you,” Gimrizh replies sincerely.

Servant Two adds, “But time never pauses.” Probably because he has to spoil the moment, but eh. Vette won’t comment either.

“Everything now hinges on Vowrawn’s survival. Baras needs him dead to be named Voice of the Emperor. He’s been marked for death. Assassins have been sent to take Vowrawn out. Their mission must end in failure if we are to completely destroy Baras.” Servant One finally gives them the order, “We are sending you to Corellia. We will learn more about the specific assassins and brief you when you arrive.”

Gimrizh nods. “As you wish. May I ask… why the importance of one man? I know he’s the last to defy Baras, but why are we staking everything on him?”

“We need his loyalty to get you close enough to Baras to deal the final blow,” Servant One tells her, “Significant aspects of Baras’s power base lie on Corellia and Vowrawn is the only one that is in position to strike, and the only one that is actively tearing them down. There are a number of hidden agents that Baras still maintains on the planet - Vowrawn again has their location and a way to destroy them.”

Damn. Vette’s starting to like this Vowrawn guy, and she’s not even usually a fan of sith.

“I understand,” Gimrizh acknowledges, keeping her head down so that Vette - and the Hand - can’t see her expressions. It’s like she said about Baras, all that time ago. She doesn’t trust them, doesn’t want them to know anything about her, not how she reacts, not the way her face looks when she lies, nothing. “Why does Vowrawn hate Baras so… thoroughly?”

“That is not something the Hand concerns itself with,” One says. “If you are truly curious, ask Vowrawn himself.”

“Of course, I did not mean to burden you with an inane question. My apologies. I shall make my way to Corellia at once.”

“You must keep Vowrawn alive at all costs,” Servant One reminds her before the call drops.

Pierce is the first to clear his throat, “So. Corellia. Can’t say I’m not happy with this, to be honest, I was going to ask for time off to go to that planet myself. Black ops is geared up and ready to take the Bastion. Thought I might have to go it alone, take a crap shuttle or cargo transport over or something.”

“Excellent news.” Gimrizh smiles one of her small, open smiles. Wow, that’s some visible happiness. Someone pull an emergency alarm. “Take as much time as you need - I shouldn’t require your help on Corellia.”

Vette gives a short, two fingered salute, “I’ll get us out of atmo and into hyperspace, shall I?”

~*~

It’s the middle of the night and the rest of the crew is quiet, asleep and out of sight - not that it’s possible to tell time from the view outside _Horizon_ ’s viewports. There’s just the stars of hyperspace, taking them closer towards the fleet orbiting Corellia and closer to the fate that Malavai’s orchestrating.

He has to be careful. Neither Gimrizh, Draagh, nor Baras can suspect his true plan for it to work as he hopes. Trapped between three powerful sith, all of which he intends to betray in some way or another.

“Malavai?” Gimrizh asks from the bridge doorway. She rubs at her eyes, “What are you doing up? Are you alright?”

It’s a moment that he savors. The last few moments of happiness he’ll get, before he destroys her precious trust and before she, in turn, destroys him. If only he could live in the small moments like this, find an eternity in them before he dies. It ends though, as she sleepily blinks at him, expecting an answer.

“Just making sure our course is correct. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”

In a short while, he won’t have to lie to her anymore.

She takes the blanket she’s wrapped around herself and drops it on his shoulders, “I know you have a bad habit of falling asleep at your post. Try and get some rest tonight.”

“Whatever you ask,” he replies before he can think about his words to closely. It’s a shame he didn’t meet her before he first met Baras. Things might have ended differently. “Go back to sleep, you have a lot to prepare for.”

Gimrizh gives him a soft kiss on the cheek before she heads back to bed.

He lifts his hand to where she pressed her lips against his skin, wishing the warmth of her would remain.

The greatest difficulty in all this might very well be her mercy. So many times, he’s seen her spare enemies when she could have gone in for the kill. Normally it can be admirable but now it’s a problem. Malavai can’t have her let him live, which means he needs to plan to counter her merciful tendencies. He cannot afford to underestimate her now. The odds are too high, he must have everything go according to plan.

Thus, step one. Ensuring Gimrizh hates him enough to kill him without hesitation.

~*~

A few days in hyperspace later, and Gimrizh steps off a shuttle onto the sunny world of Corellia. This is the last step before she faces Baras in combat, and everything hinges on Vowrawn, including her own survival and that of her crew. She can’t fail, and there cannot be complications like there were on Belsavis.

In front of her, the war rages on.

“Let’s get to work.”

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is Quinn's interlude. Please leave a comment, let me know what you liked or disliked!


	27. Interlude : Malavai Quinn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A deal's a deal

Ten paces in length, seven paces in width. Back and forth, over and over again. Malavai paces up and down his cell. He chewed his nails down to stubs after the first week in here and it's been almost a month now, he's been keeping careful count. He can't lose his sense of time and it's so very easy to do so in the cells on Dromund Kaas - no windows, twenty floors beneath ground, constantly filtered air, nothing to let prisoners know the passage of time. Five months ago, he escorted a group of republic officers to this very prison. Now he's stuck in here himself. He can see the bitter irony of it all.

He doesn't deserve this. That thought keeps him going, keeps a steady furnace of anger burning in him. He's _not_ a traitor. Whatever that fool Broysc says about him, he's no traitor. He's still loyal to the Empire, even locked up down here. This is the result of a corrupt and idiotic Moff, not the orderly system of the Empire that keeps a third of the entire bloody galaxy running. Broysc, despite being his commanding officer, is _wrong._  The man has no tactical sense whatsoever and is stupid enough to ignore sound advice. And he's an ungrateful backstabber.

Malavai had won the damn battle. He knows he ignored the chain of command, but the _results_ are what matter in the end. And the result was another victory for the Empire instead of an embarrassing defeat. He'd do it again, too. Even knowing that he'd be court martialed he'd still do the same thing all over again because he _knows_ that the Empire's victory is all that matters.

No, he doesn't regret a single one of his actions. He doesn't feel guilty at all - he's _furious_. Not only with getting thrown in jail like a criminal, but the incompetence that has managed to permeate the system.

The facts are disparagingly bleak. He'd won. And not only has his victory been credited to Broysc, but he's been incarcerated. Awaiting trial. Disobeying a superior officer's direct command is a highly punishable offence and Broysc will push for the harshest sentence possible. If Malavai is being honest with himself, his fate is probably going up before a firing squad.

After the battle, he'd gotten a week of shore leave - suspicious, given that they _are_ in the middle of a war, but not so much as the rest of his squad was given leave too. So he'd gone back to his apartment on Dromund Kaas and then they'd dragged him away in front of his brother. Lucian's only fifteen years old for fuck's sake, he shouldn't have had to see that. And now what's Lucian going to _do_? He still has two more years in school before he can join the military, there's no way the money Malavai has saved up will last that long. They've been getting universal income from the Sphere of Logistics, but if Malavai is judged guilty, that money will be reduced by half.

Damn it all to hell.

Malavai's known for years that the military will probably be the end of him, but he never thought it'd be like this. He thought he'd be older, for a start. He's almost twenty-one, not exactly the age most officers die at. And he imagined he'd go out in a battle, something for the Empire, give his life in a meaningful way. Not a krething firing squad.

There's so much more he wants to do, there's so much more work to be done for the Empire. They're so close to winning this war, after all. He's never commanded his own ship before - he's always wanted to do that. He still hasn't caught that SIS agent Voloren and now the bastard is probably going to get away.

There's still a trial, but he knows he won't be let off. Broysc has too much pull in Imperial High Command for that.

He can hear the whirr of the door's locking mechanism. Someone's coming in. A court summons, maybe? It's certainly been long enough.

A guard opens the door and then stands back to let someone else in. That's... not expected.

A stocky man steps inside, old and graying, but definitely sharp as a vibroblade. His dark robes drag on the ground and Malavai can see a lightsaber clipped to his belt. A Sith then. What in the galaxy could a Sith possibly want from him?

But he hasn't forgot his manners, so be bows to whoever this Sith is.

"You're Malavai Quinn, yes?" the Sith says, deep voice echoing ever so slightly in the otherwise empty cell, "I'm Darth Baras, do you know of me?"

"You're the Ambassador to Alderaan, an impressive record of Jedi kills, twenty years of service of to the Sith Order-," Malavai recites before pausing in confusion, "Forgive me, my lord, but I don't understand what you want with me."

The Sith - Lord Baras - doesn't answer that question, "And _you_ are the officer who broke rank, snuck behind enemy lines, and won the Battle of Druckenwell."

His hands clench at his sides, “Yes, I am.”

Lord Baras gives Malavai a considering look, as though he’s just passed some sort of test, “You have a glowing military history,” and he says it so offhandedly that Malavai has no idea if he’s being sarcastic or not, “Top of your class in the Academy, promoted to Sergeant after only three years of service. Three more years service in field medicine before that. And you’re extremely loyal - that’s unusual. You were going places in the Empire.”

Past tense - _were_ going places. Now, he’s going nowhere very quickly. But why is this Sith Lord, a busy and influential Sith Lord at that, bothering to go over his file and visit him in this krething prison cell?

“Let me tell you what happens to you,” Lord Baras says casually, “You disobeyed a direct order and Moff Broysc will push for you to be found at the very least guilty of insubordination, but most likely treason. If you go to trial, you’ll be given a death sentence. A glowing military history, and that’ll be how it ends. Are you planning on fighting it? Breaking out of prison, perhaps? You must know what Broysc will do to you, do you have an escape plan?”

“No, my lord,” Malavai answers honestly. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him.

There’s another pause, another odd test that he isn’t sure he is passing or failing. “Interesting. You have some sort of family, don’t you? A brother?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“What will happen to him after you are executed?”

“... I don’t know, my lord.”

“There’s a lot more you could do with yourself, and the Empire could use someone like you. Do you really want to let it end here?”

“No.”

“I can get you a pardon.”

Malavai’s heart stops for a second and he takes a moment to let his thoughts catch up, “A pardon? Excuse me, my lord, I don’t mean to be rude but… why would someone as high ranked as you bother?”

“I need spies,” Lord Baras informs him, and for a moment Malavai thinks this whole thing's a farce because no one who needs spies just says it out loud like that. But when he considers it, he’s a criminal awaiting trial, who would he tell? Baras continues nonchalantly, “Nothing insidious, I assure you. You’ve noticed the idiocy that can plague even the highest level of Imperial Command, so have I. Sometimes, often even, doing the right thing for the Empire involves breaking the rules. I maintain a thorough network of spies throughout the Empire, people who are able to act in the best interest of the Empire in a more off the books manner.”

A solution to the broken system. This Lord Baras is actually doing what Malavai always wished someone would do - work for the Empire without hindrance by the corrupt and the foolish. “And you want me to work for you?”

“Correct,” Baras confirms, “You’ll be transferred to Balmorra, even though it’s a dull planet there’s nothing I can do about that. However, you’ll be able to keep your commision. I provide a small monetary bonus to my agents as well, although you’re clearly not in this for credits. I’d ask you if you’ll take the job, but I already know you will. So I’ve gone ahead and made the necessary preparations. I just thought that I’d inform you.”

“You knew I’d take the job when you arrived?” Malavai asks, incredulous. He’ll take the job - it’ll secure Lucian’s future, and his own - of course he will, he barely has a choice, but how did Lord Baras know that?

Baras gives him a look that stares straight through him, “You infiltrated a Republic warship to sabotage a ten-thousand volt particle cannon. I didn’t think work as a spy would be daunting for you. Even with Broysc trying to keep you down, I’m sure you can succeed. In five years, maybe you’ll be promoted to Lieutenant.” He steps out of the cell with a final, “I’ll contact you once you arrive on Balmorra.”  
"Wait, my lord, please," Malavai asks just before Baras vanishes, "About the war-"

"The war is over,” Baras says dismissively.

And then the door clicks shut behind Baras, leaving Malavai feeling like he’s been swept up in a dangerous current and he can’t see where it’s taking him. All he can do is try to keep his head above the water or let himself drown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Quinn's interlude! What you've all been asking me for since I showed Gimrizh's back in chapter 7! I've actually had Quinn's written pretty much from the start but I've been holding off on posting it until now.


	28. Nothing Gold Can Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without further ado!  
> This chapter, aka: The Bastion going doooowwwwwwnnnnn, assassination attempts are the only fun Vowrawn gets, and ow. Sorry. Not sorry. Suffer.

Major Ani Ishzir has a lot of respect for General Garza. Even though she normally enjoys the General’s presence, there’s something about these strategy meetings that she’s never found an interest in. Perhaps Ani just isn’t cut out for high command. For stars sake, she didn’t _ask_ for a promotion to Major. She just wanted to keep leading Havoc and they stuck her with a promotion. At least she’s still in the field.

“With all due respect, General, we should push Corellia while we have the chance,” Ani argues, “The Minister of War _just_ died, while the Empire deals with the power shift, we need to kick them off Corellia. They’re losing that planet anyway, and strong final push might save lives. Besides, we all know that the Minister was the one gunning for taking that planet.”

“His successor is no pushover. Don’t underestimate Kilran, _especially_ now that he’s taken the Minister’s place.” Garza looks at the holo map of Corellia, “We need to start moving our forces south.”

Ani doesn’t agree. They either need to push forward and wipe the Empire out, or they need to prepare for a longer war and bunker down, “We should reinforce what we have.”

“I value your opinion, however -”

There’s a knock on the door, _thank the stars_.

“Come in!” Ani barks before the General can tell them to go away.

It’s Jorgan. He steps inside and salutes, “General, Major. I have reports that one of the Empire’s black ops squads has been sighted near the Bastion, on Corellia.”

“Are they preparing to take it?” Garza asks.

Ani grins, straightening up to her full height so that she can properly loom over the other two in the room, “General, we knew that the Empire wanted the manufacturing information stored in the Bastion’s servers since the moment Havoc Squad originally took the building ourself. There’s no doubt in my mind that they’ll try and take it for themselves. This is a perfect opportunity for the Republic to show its strength.”

“Well,” Garza resigns with a shrug, “I did promote you. And Havoc Squad is best suited to defend the Bastion. I will support your decision. It’s your call, Major.”

“Jorgan! Gear up and tell Havoc Squad to get ready - we’re heading back to Corellia!”

~*~

Foris gets out of the armoured speeder and makes his way into the old Corsec building that they’ve been using as forward ops post. So much of this sector is a shelled out wreck, but there’s structural integrity to this building and they’ve managed to get some decent shields up. Good enough for a temporary post.

There’s a good company or so of men here - Lorant and Rakton actually pulled through on that one. Foris had been prepared to take the Bastion with just the four of them if he had to, but it’s such a relief to have backup.

“Welcome to Corellia, boss,” Tanido greets him. He holds open the door to the command room. “Everyone else is already here, we’ve been waiting on you since you told us you’d landed planetside.”

“Sorry to keep you all waiting then.”

He follows Tanido into the briefing room. Damn. It’s been so long since all four of them were in the same room, geared up and ready to go. It was a force-damned shame that they got split up after the war. To think, they could have been doing this for the past ten years instead of being stuck in dead end postings. They could have taken the Bastion years ago, before it became the political nightmare that it is now.

For all four of them, this is their last chance for glory.

“Let’s begin,” he says.

Arlos pulls up the maps they have of the Bastion, projecting the image onto a large floor-mounted holo. “The floor is yours, boss.”

“We’re going to send in a small unit of snipers,” Foris begins, “Hit the visible guards on the perimeter from this building -” he points to an old apartment complex within spitting distance of the Bastion, “- which should draw their attention. Meanwhile, the four of us will be sneaking in round the back, _here_. Drop the emps and wipe the security out as we go. Call in the rest of the company to handle the pub’s backup.”

Lorant clears her throat, “A reminder to you all. The Empire wants the ship manufacturing data that’s stored on the Bastion’s servers more than it wants the building - that’s our target. As soon as we can get Arlos to the main servers, our job is to cover him.”

“Yeah,” Foris agrees, “Keep Arlos from keeping killed till we’ve got the data. All that matters after that is getting out safely, losing as few men as possible in the meanwhile. We can’t have any air support, and neither can the Republic. Any damage to the building might damage the information - neither side is going to risk that. Fighting will be kept to the ground, and the ground only.”

Which is, fortunately enough, what they specialize in.

“I’ll be providing backup,” Lorant reminds them, giving Foris a stern look in particular, “But I’ve been given orders to cut and run if it looks like we’re losing. If you all start going down, my orders are to take the data and get out - without you, if need be. Don’t rely on me for this.”

“The good thing is that we’re prepared enough and good enough that it won’t come to that. That’s all. Get ready, and we’ll roll out as soon as Rakton gives the signal.” Foris ends the briefing with that. Best to keep it short and sweet.

Tanido pulls a bottle of Corellia’s finest whiskey out of his jacket pocket, “Now that we’re just playing the waiting game, who wants to split this with me - not you Arlos, you’re underage.”

“I’m _twenty-nine_ will you give up on that?” Arlos whines.

From the corner, Lorant snorts. “Yeah. Twenty-nine. Sure.”

“Well I’m forty,” Foris remarks, “Hand over the booze to your elders, kids.”

~*~

“Are you sure this is the right way?” Vette asks, picking her way over a pile of rubble.

Corellia used to be a really beautiful planet, industrial like Coruscant or Nar Shaddaa. Vette visited it once, just briefly. Her gang stole a set of ancient Twi’lek stone tablets from a Republic senator who lived here. It had been a fun job. It really is a shame to see the planet like this, turned into part war machine, part refugee camp, and part ruin. That’s what war does, she supposes, it just ruins things.

Ahead of her, Jaesa nods, “Yes. I’m sure. I can’t tell much about him, not yet, but I can sense him. Whoever he is, he’s a light side sith, just like me. And he’s in danger.”

“You can tell that much from a two second force-trip? Babe, it’s hot how good at your job you are.”

“It was mostly luck - it would have taken me much longer to sense him had he not been in danger.”

“Does being in danger make him… I don’t know, show up more in force-land?”

Jaesa giggles, “Not really. It means he’s not focusing on maintaining his mental defenses, so I don’t have to spend excessive time searching for him. It also means that he was radiating a sort of… low level distress beacon, if you will. One that I was able to easily catch because I’m also a light side sith, as he is.”

Vette squints at the buildings up ahead, “Careful. I think that’s an Imperial outpost up ahead.”

The two of them slow to a less threatening pace, approaching the outpost with caution. Jaesa might be a sith, but Vette isn’t, and no one there is expecting the two of them. It’d be different if they’d comm’d ahead. No, this little excursion was entirely spur of the moment - Vette had been expecting that oh, maybe they’d be tagging along with Gimrizh, but _no_ the boss took Quinn with her instead. Which, okay, Vette doesn’t really have a problem with that, it’s just that she misses sisterly bonding moments.

Jaesa moves her lightsaber to a more prominent position on her belt as they get closer.

A couple guards approach them. “State your name and purpose!” One of them calls out, holding his blaster at the ready.

“My name is Jaesa Willsaam, I’m a Sith Apprentice, my master is Lord Korribanil.” Jaesa declares, before gesturing to Vette with an apologetic look on her face that only the two of them can see. “This is my personal companion, Vette. And my business is that of my Order.”

Immediately all the blasters are lowered.

“Apologies, my lord,” the one that addressed them first says, “I’m Sergeant Haggen. May I ask which Lord Korribanil you are apprenticed to and do you have proper identification?”

Wow, talk about being sticklers for the rules. Although it _is_ a warzone, so maybe Vette can sympathize with that.

“Certainly.” Jaesa reaches into her robe and retrieves a plexi ID card, “Here. And my master is Lord Gimrizh Korribanil.”

Haggen quickly runs her ID through a datapad, checking her story against the system, “Everything checks out. Apologies for the death of your master, my lord-” Oh _right_ , Gimrizh is still technically listed as killed in action. “- You’re free to proceed as you wish. If there’s anything we can do to assist you, we are at your service.”

He hands her ID back and Jaesa pockets it again. “Yes, actually, I was wondering what’s ahead of us.” She points in the way they were originally going, “That direction, straight ahead. I was just told to go there, you see, I wasn’t briefed.”

Haggan nods, “Of course, my lord. We’re guarding the Imperial occupied zone from the fringe group of Green Jedi - one of their bolt holes is located somewhere in the complex up ahead. We have yet to receive permission for a forward assault, so we’re just here to ensure that they don’t attack the Empire.”

“Who the hells are the Green Jedi?” Vette asks, raising an eyebrow at the weird name.

There’s actual surprise in Haggan’s eyes - oh _right,_ he probably assumed Vette’s just Jaesa’s slave or something, fuck that guy. “They’re a group of renegade Jedi that have sworn allegiance to Corellia over the Jedi Order. Make no mistake, they’re no allies of the Empire either, they’ve been trying to drive us off Corellia just as hard as the Republic. But it does mean that they don’t have any Republic reinforcements or supplies backing them up.”

“I see,” Jaesa replies. There’s a clouded look on her, a slight frown, a furrowed brow. Does she remember something about them from her time in the Jedi Order? “Thank you for your assistance, Sergeant Haggan.”

She dismisses him with a polite nod before continuing on through the outpost.

“So…” Vette tries to casually bring up once they’re past the last of the Imperials, “These Green Jedi… I take it you’ve heard of them?”

“We consider them only slightly less than outright traitors to the Order,” she begins, “and they are treated with distance as soon as they swear loyalty to the Corellian flag. They often tend to work counter to the Order’s best interests, you see. There are a lot of… other rumors - they work with Corsec heavily and are said to be vicious in apprehending criminals.”

Weird. The Jedi always seemed like such a tight knit little cult. “What makes ‘em swear loyalty to Corellia?”

“It’s a group mostly comprised of Jedi who were born on Corellia.” Jaesa admits, “That’s just one of many reasons why the Jedi mostly accept young initiates. Those who are too young to remember where they were born.”

That’s fucked up.

“The more I know about the Jedi Order, the less it surprises me that you left.”

“It has it’s… problems. The Sith Order isn’t exempt from issues either, but at least with the Sith there is more capacity for change. The Jedi let themselves stagnate - there is such emphasis put on tradition that the Order doesn’t move forward. It caused _such_ a stir when Nomen Karr picked me to be his padawan. I was too old, according to almost everyone in the order. Were it not for my unique abilities, I doubt that I would have been allowed to join.”

Vett shrugs, jumping over a fallen pillar, “I almost don’t blame these Green Jedi for deciding to fuck off.”

It’s clear that Jaesa doesn’t quite agree, “They are their own form of traditionalists.”

“At least they’re not indoctrinating children. Like… I know the Sith Order does that too, but man is it messed up.”

“The Green Jedi have their own form of indoctrination. Or at least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

Why does every single group of force users suck so much.

Jaesa slows down as they approach an abandoned apartment complex. It’s one of the massive spacescrapers that make up Corellia, but the west side of it has clearly been bombed, and there’s no signs of life. Anyone who lived here must have fled a while ago. Except for those weirdo Green Jedi, apparently.

“The person I’m sensing is inside,” Jaesa says, “Along with a few other, fainter force signatures. I’d look deeper but…”

“If this guy is in trouble then we don’t have the time.” Vette gives the building a quick run down. If there’s danger, the front door’s probably not the best way to go. If there aren’t security holos watching the front entrance, then there’s probably at least one Green Jedi lurking around there, trying to catch people breaking in. “Where abouts can you sense this guy?”

Jaesa frowns up at the building, “Top floor, maybe a couple below it.”

“Hm.” Vette cranes her neck to stare up the wall, “How good is your climbing?”

~*~

“Coordinates from the Hand,” Gimrizh says, showing Malavai the location that’s just been sent to her holo, “That’s where the first assassin will be landing.”

They’ve been slowly making their way towards Vowrawn’s location for a day now, waiting for further instructions from the Hand before making their first move. Currently, they’re at one of the Empire’s larger bases, a repurposed Corsec complex that’s housing and transporting Imperial refugees.

Gimrizh feels a little guilty that they don’t have the time to stop and assist with the war effort, but their mission is currently more important. If they don’t stop Baras, it won’t matter if smaller operations on Corellia succeed or not.

Malavai copies the coordinates, “I’ll commandeer us transport, my lord.”

“Of course.”

She almost reaches out to him as he walks away, almost follows him, wanting to be by his side right now more than anything. Ever since they left Voss, he’s been so… distant. Quieter. Even though they’ve been on the same ship for days, she misses him. He’s thrown himself into work more than ever, staying up long nights on the bridge, pouring over the terminals. Stress, she suspects. If she knew what to do to help him, she’d do it in a second. She doesn’t even know if finally getting rid of Baras will help.

Hells, if she has to end the war herself to ease the burden that he’s carrying, she would. With luck, their stay on Corellia will be short and this will all end soon.

Her holo starts to ring again.

As the blue image lights up, her hearts begin to pound.

“I assume you still recognize me,” Baras says, “Consider yourself fortunate that I am reaching out like this.”

Her knuckles turn white as she grips the holo. That bastard. He’s probably only showing his face now to unnerve her - he knows she’s getting close to taking him out and he’s trying scare tactics, given that his previous plan to blow her up didn’t work. And hiring a bounty hunter failed as well. “You’ll have to try better than an unexpected holo if you want to scare me away.”

“How presumptuous. I’m here to tell you that you are being deceived. The organization you work for is not the Emperor’s Hand. They are the puppet of a sect that the Emperor cast out. I hardly expect you to take me at my word, but it is inconsequential. I thought it only fair to warn you.”

Liar.

“Since when have you given a damn about fair?”

“I was always upfront about the reality of service to me, you know that. You knew quite well that once you became a threat to me, I would take you out, and yet you chose to serve me anyway. Consider this… repayment, then.”

“You were a fool. I would never have betrayed you. Don’t get me wrong, I was never loyal to you, but I wouldn’t have dealt the first blow. We both know that I’m too much a coward for that. I would have remained one of your assets regardless of how my skill increased. What you did - trying to kill me out of paranoia - it was stupid and wasteful. For now I have no choice but to kill you to ensure my _own_ survival.”

“If you want to secure your own continued existence, take my warning to heart. Your handlers have you in over your head, sticking your wet nose into Darth business. Walk away now, and perhaps our previous animosities can be swept aside.”

Is that possible? No. Of course not. Baras tried to kill her when she was just a potential threat, he would never let her live now. It’s just a tactic to get her off his back so that he can kill her when her guard is lowered. Besides, the Hand would hardly let her walk away and live. She’s always known that even though her master might have changed, her fate remains the same. Nothing more than a tool for other people to use.

“You’ve lied, manipulated, and coerced your way into power. I will not fall for your deception now.”

“Your lack of sight is almost laughable. Don’t delude yourself, you aren’t clever enough to play the game that this false Hand has stuck you in.”

“You’re not as smart as you think you are.”

“I’m better off than you. You can’t see through their deceptions as I can.”

“And yet I’ve deceived you. More than once. See you on the battlefield, _master_.”

Before either of them can speak again, she ends the call.

That was stupid of her. She shouldn’t have mentioned that she disobeyed him, but stars, everyone she saved is protected and she just wanted to rub something into Baras’s face for once. For just one minute she wanted to have the upper hand against him. To let him know that he’s not secure, he’s not safe, that she _can_ beat him. To convince herself that she can beat him.

She turns and heads over to the speeder pad, almost crushing her holo in her hand. “Malavai! Let’s head out!”

“Of course, my lord.” He steps aside to let her hop into the speeder, “Are we ready to proceed?

“Oh I’m ready. Baras’s assassins won’t last long.”

~*~

Janise Lorant has a lot of respect for Pierce. He’s one of the three people in the entire galaxy that she doesn’t completely despise being around - Tanido and Arlos being the other lucky two. A tiny part of her was disappointed when she got made captain before him. Not because she didn’t want the promotion or hadn’t been gunning for it. She’d just had higher hopes for him and he’d failed to meet them.

After she’d made captain and found out he was still stuck as a lieutenant, she’d thought for a while that perhaps Pierce didn’t want to be promoted and so hadn’t tried. He’s never been a favorite for promotion though, regardless of what he wants. The man can’t follow the rules and can’t keep his mouth shut when it comes to insults.

Janise _can_. She made captain because she’s good at her job and she knows how to show that off.

Even so, she’s still not sure that she’d do a better job of leading black ops than Pierce. He might be shit at other aspects that’d win him a promotion, but for what he does? He’s the best. She’s perfectly content to sit back and let him run this mission, and it’s just a lucky coincidence that as a babysitter, that’s her job anyways.

Pierce ducks down behind the window to sit next to her. “Standard patrol, just as Arlos said. Two guys, North-west, about 210 degrees.”

“And the change?” She marks the patrol on the holo map.

“Every twenty minutes on the dot. Pubs don’t know to switch it up occasionally.”

She tosses him a thermos of caf. “We steamrolled over them in the last war. You would have thought that for _this_ war, they would learn to change their tactics.” The empty building they’re hiding in seems to close in on her. She can’t count the number of injuries she’s suffered at pub hands. “Fuck the Republic.”

“Yep. Any news from Rakton?”

“Given that he was on the other side of the planet yesterday, I imagine it will take him a couple days to get here.” She can tell Pierce is getting antsy to start the fighting. Another reason he’s not been promoted yet. “Do you really want to start this mission without his approval? He said to wait till he arrived, after all.”

Pierce rolls his eyes, “I know. Don’t tell me you don’t want to head over there and fuck them up as well, though.”

“I do. But I’m not stupid. I like living and I like my job.”

“You think I don’t?”

She chuckles, “Some days, yeah. You’re too reckless. And if you piss off Rakton - so fucking what? You’ve got a Sith Lord backing you. Not all of us are so lucky. Your job is hardly threatened if you disobey command.”

“Yeah, sure, I’d be fine.” He shrugs and turns away from her, “But I don’t leave my crew behind and I sure as shit don’t throw them under the speeder for my own mistakes. I’m not going to do anything that’d ruin the rest of black ops. I’m an ass, I admit it, but I’m a loyal ass. Don’t go stressing about me, Lorant.”

She punches him in the shoulder, “I know _that_ , idiot. Your problem is that sometimes you don’t think first.”

“Stop calling me stupid.”

“Nope.”

~*~

“Eskella, do you even _want_ this position?” Darth Temorus asks, slapping Eskella’s failed essay onto his desk.

She stares at the floor, gritting her teeth, “Yes, master.”

“The Ministry of Education won’t accept work like this,” Temorus criticizes, “It’s sloppy, poorly sourced, you can’t use a comma splice to save your life, and it’s _biased_ beyond belief. No one cares how much you disapprove of the Institute system if you can’t present your argument in a rational manner. And for that matter, your reasoning is flawed and terribly put together. I advise you to seriously reconsider your thesis.”

“But the Institute system _is_ failing!”

“Then argue that point better than this. If you want this job, you won’t get it with this work.”

“Yes, master.”

Temorus sighs, standing up and tucking the datapad under his arm, “Come with me, I’ll help you rewrite it - or get started on it at least.”

She follows him out of his office, down the halls of the Korriban Academy. This place… it’s her life. It’s been her life since she was a little girl, and she doesn’t want to leave it and the memories of her father that still cling to its walls.

“Will you still write me a recommendation?” She asks, dogging his footsteps.

“Of course. Your father did excellent work here. I’d love to see you continue down his path.”

“... He died.”

Temorus stops in the middle of an empty hall. He puts a hand on her shoulder and gives her a serious look, worse than his usual scolding. “Yes. He did. You need to stop digging through the security records and start to accept what happened. I can’t keep covering for you when security comes asking.”

“Sorry, master.”

Eskella can’t be certain - there wasn’t a body recovered. And she won’t stop looking until she finds it.

~*~

Jaesa climbs through the window first, landing on the balls of her feet and quietly turning around to help Vette through after her. She presses her finger to her lips as they head through the building. She can sense a patrol of Green Jedi in the area, not the same building, but close enough to be dangerous. They feel strange to her senses, like Jedi that are just on the brink of falling. There’s anger in them that the Jedi Order disapproves of, outrage at their planet being invaded that would get them kicked out of the Order.

“Where’s the dude?” Vette whispers.

They’re making their way through a long corridor that wraps around this floor. “His signature is just up ahead. A room on the left.”

“Sweet.”

Jaesa focuses in, trying to figure out what the other signatures she’s sensing are, “He’s not alone. There’s smaller force signatures in the same room as him, but he’s not fighting. I think they’re…” It clears in her mind’s eye and she gasps. “Oh stars. They’re children. They’re too young to be full Jedi - initiates, maybe?”

“Well this just got more complicated,” Vette comments, holstering the blaster that she’d been holding up.

Jaesa comes to a stop in front of the room. Signaling Vette to keep back, she knocks politely on the door, “Hello? My name is Jaesa Willsaam, I’m here to help.”

“Please don’t stab and kill us!” Vette adds.

There’s shuffling from inside the room, a feeling of confusion, nervousness, through the force,  before a voice calls out, “I’m opening on the door, take a step back. I’m armed. If you attack, I will kill you.”

Vette rolls her eyes, but takes that requested step back, “Charming guy.”

Stars, Jaesa loves her sarcastic girlfriend.

The door slowly slides open. Standing in the frame is a tall Red Sith, dressed in tattered robes and holding a purple lightsaber that’s pointed at her heart. She doesn’t recognize him at all, whoever he is, she hadn’t considered him a potential light sith friend before. “I’ve never heard of a Jaesa Willsaam,” he says in a gruff voice, before pointing his blade at Vette, “and I have no idea who _you_ are.”

“I’m Vette,” Vette says, “Pleasure to meet you and all. Can you put the lightsaber down? I have a fear of dying at the hands of crazy sith.”

Reluctantly, he lowers the blade, “I’m Lord Emmerage. Or, former lord, I suppose.”

“I’m like you,” Jaesa blurts out before she realizes it might not be the best way to approach the topic, “A light side Sith. I sensed that you were trapped here and I came to help. I know you have no way of believing me, but I am sincere, I swear it.”

He shrugs, deactivating his weapon, “I couldn’t sense you approach. If you’re lying, it’s not like I’m powerful enough to stop you anyways. And we desperately need help. Come on in.”

Yes - progress!

“Thank you,” she says before following him inside, Vette right behind her.

There’s a series of small rooms that Emmerage leads them through. Jaesa was right. They come to a stop inside the main room and there’s three small children huddled together on an old sofa. Two Togruta girls and a Miralukan boy. Now that she’s closer she can sense their presence in the force more clearly. They must be padawans, they’re clearly light side enough to be Jedi. Or former Jedi at least.

“Hey,” Vette waves at the kids, “Sup?”

“Em, why are these people here?” The tallest Togruta girl stands up. She’s purple skinned and wearing gold bangles, and there’s an almost aristocratic look to her. “You said we couldn’t trust the Jedi _or_ the Sith.”

Vette turns and grins at him, “You’re called _Em_? I love it.”

“Padawans can call me Em, not you,” he tells her. He crosses his arms and gives the Togruta girl a disapproving look. “Vie, sit back down, we could be watched from the windows, you know that. And I don’t necessarily trust these people, but this woman, Jaesa Willsaam, claims to be a light side sith. Sith don’t claim that unless they mean it. It’s practically a death sentence if spoken to the wrong person.”

Vie huffs, but sits down anyway, “I guess we’re trapped here regardless.”

“You’re trapped?” Jaesa asks, “Please, explain the situation here to me. The more we know, the more we can help.”

Emmerage gestures to the chairs dotting the room, “Take a seat while I brief you. If you’re here, you’re as trapped as we are, so there’s nothing to lose.”

“Ugh,” Vette groans as she sinks down into a loveseat next to Jaesa, “I hate traps. Unless I’m doing the trapping.”

“We’re not, unfortunately,” he tells them, “These padawans - Vie, Arana, and Petris - used to be my students. Three years ago I was an overseer on Korriban. I transferred between Institutes, specializing in teaching non-human, non-pureblood acolytes. There was a plan put into effect three years ago to infiltrate the Green Jedi here on Corellia. My three students all had one thing in common -”

“We were born here,” Petris, the Miralukan, informs them. “That’s the Green Jedi’s style.”

The Empire uses _children_ for infiltration missions? Jaesa hates to admit that adults wouldn’t have worked for this specific mission but it still leaves a bad taste in her mouth. “Was the plot uncovered?”

“No,” Emmerage admits, “Everything was going according to plan. But they’re in danger. This is a war zone, and the Green Jedi are beginning to bring padawans onto the battlefield. My students were in danger, so I… I fled Korriban and pushed their extraction foward. Unfortunately the ship I brought to Corellia was Imperial-make and the Empire flagged it as soon as I went AWOL. It’s no longer safe.”

“And the Greenies caught us as we were leaving and they got us trapped in this stupid building.” Vie kicks the sofa with the backs of her heels, “We have no way out.”

Jaesa _did_ sense a lot of Green Jedi patrols in the area. Even though she could sense exactly where they all are if she tried to, they don’t have enough freedom of movement to safely evacuate the children as well. She and Vette might have managed to get in, but they can’t get the kids out _and_ guarantee their safety. Clearly, Emmerage isn’t willing to risk the padawan’s safety. To be frank, neither is she, and she’s certain Vette is in the same boat as well. Which means they need a safe way out.

“The bottom floor is rigged with traps,” Emmerage tells them, “We can’t get out through there and they’ve bombed the skybridges that connect this building to any nearby. I have no one on the outside to get a ship onto the rooftop.”

Vette leans back, cracks her fingers, and grins. Confidence is radiating from her. “Well. If _that’s_ what you need.”

Jaesa clears her throat, “Babe, we have no way to get to _Horizon_. Toovee can’t fly the ship by himself, he’s not programed for it, and everyone else is out - they can’t get to us.”

“Oh no no,” Vette replies, the grin getting bigger, “We have _contacts_.”

“Who?”

“Risha! Of course! And her crazy smuggler boyfriend!”

Jaesa hates to rain on the parade but… “What if they’re not near this sector? They could be anywhere in the galaxy.”

“True,” Vette concedes, getting out her holo anyway, “Or they could be super close.”

When the call goes through, it’s _Zirin_ that picks up, not Risha.

“Vette! Jaesa! Lovely to see you! How’s it going? What can I help you with?” There’s a crash over his shoulder and he turns around to swear like a drunken Hutt. “Fuck, sorry, there’s a bit of a… _Bowdaar, not on the ship!_ ”

Oh dear, this might not be the best time.

“Problem?” Vette asks weakly.

He sighs, scratching his horns, “Sorry. We have a new, long term client and it’s not going very well. Part of this dude’s team is a Trandoshan, and Bowdaar’s trying to kill him and he’s trying to kill Bowdaar, and Akaavi’s arguing with a transparent woman. It’s been a very long week. What can I do for you?”

Jaesa leans in to explain, “We’re trapped in a building on Corellia and need a… non-faction aligned extraction. Are you close?”

“Hells yeah I’m close, we’re in the neighboring system right now, can be there in a day or so. I am also very desperate for a new client that’s not trying to tear my crew apart at the seams. Send me your location and we’ll head out right now.”

“Sweet!” Vette plugs coordinates into the holo, “Sending now.”

He finger guns at them, “See you soon, adopted sister of my fiance.”

“Oh, yeah, that reminds me, Risha tells me everything, treat her like she’s made of pure gold and if you ever hurt her I won’t hold her back when she comes after you for revenge,” Vette cheerfully warns him. “Welcome to the family, fiance of my adopted sister.”

“Can we trust these crazies?” Vie asks as soon as the call drops.

Jaesa’s offended by that on Vette’s behalf. “They’re a well-seasoned crew, I assure you all.”

Emmerage puts his head in his hands, “We haven’t got a choice, kids. There’s no other way out of here. But if you two try to attack us, or deliver us back to the Empire, I will take as many of you out as I can before I die.”

“You’re not an optimist, are you?” Vette asks.

~*~

The wind from the ship’s engine crashes across the landing pad, kicking up debris as the ship lands on top of the spacescraper. It’s an old, slapdash sort of ship, one that’s been taken apart and put back together a dozen times. An ugly ship. Although it’s not necessary to have a nice ship to assassinate a Dark Council member.

Unfortunately for the droid assassin that steps off the gangplank, Gimrizh and Malavai have arrived before him.

The droid is heavily armed, one heavy rapid-fire blaster, a few side pistols, thermal detonators, a small electric baton. And that’s just what’s visible.

“Cover my back,” she says quietly to Malavai, “If the droid starts shooting, I’ll block while you shoot him.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The both of them ready their weapons as she slowly walks towards the droid. If things go poorly, she wants someone to keep the exit open and she wants to put herself between Malavai and that rapid-fire blaster. At least she can use her lightsabers to deflect bolts when needed. She’s more durable.

“Sith.” The droid’s vocal programing is harsh on her ears, “Identify yourself.”

Did Baras not send it a holo of her for it’s databases? That’s rather oversighted of her former master. Either he was confident enough in his assassins to think that she wouldn’t catch them, or he has something else up his sleeve. Something that he’s certain will take her out. No, she’s being paranoid. Baras has three assassins sent after Vowrawn, possibly more. If one fails, he has two contingencies.

“I’m here to relieve you of your duties.”

The droid processes the statement before replying, “Why did the contractor not contact me himself?”

“Perhaps your holo is broken.”

“Incorrect. My programing informs me that you are not truthful.” It reaches for the large blaster on its shoulder. “Prepare to be terminated.”

Well. She tried.

Before the droid can get his first shot off, she leaps backwards and ignites her lightsabers, bringing them up just in time to block as the bolts start flying. The bolts aren’t particularly heavy but there’s a lot of them. Defense has never been her strongest point.

She skids backwards, waiting for Malavai to take the shot.

There’s no shot. Her blades send the droid’s attacks flying to the sides, harmlessly crashing to the ground and she’s forced back another inch - still no shot. Shit, is she blocking his aim at the droid? Or did she fuck up and let him get hurt - no, she would know if she had.

Her red saber comes up to block her face as she glances behind her to make sure that Malavai’s alright - that she didn’t let a bolt through.

At first glance he’s fine, she can’t see any injuries, he’s just frozen, his eyes wide and glassed over. His blaster is pointed over her shoulder but he’s not attacking. He’s just - he’s panicking. Kreth.

“Malavai!”

He blinks, refocuses on the droid, and fires

The shot goes wild, hitting the assassin in the shoulder joint instead of the head. It’s enough to get the blaster out of commission though. Gimrizh spins forward and slices the droid into three parts. There’s a cry from its gearbox, sparks flying into her face, and the smell of burning oil before the droid dies.

She clips her sabers back onto her belt and rushes over to Malavai, “What happened? You usually never miss like that.”

“I… I apologize, my lord.” He’s not even looking at her, he’s staring at the ground, and his breathing is labored. Shit, she knows what this is like when it’s happening to her but she’s never seen it happen to Malavai like this before. She doesn’t - she doesn’t know what to do. She doesn’t know how to help.

“It’s okay,” she says at last. “I’m here. I’m sorry. Please… can I help you? I don’t know what to do to make this better.”

“Everything is fine,” he replies curtly.

That’s a lie. “Should I recall Vette? I can -”

“Just let me do my job. My lord.”

There’s that coldness again. She can count on one hand the number of times he’s kissed her since they left Voss. He hasn’t touched her since Hoth. “I’m not asking for anything, I just want you to talk to me. I know there’s something wrong, and I’m not questioning your ability to do your job, I only want to help.”

Malavai has never seemed so unreachable to her before. She’s standing right in front of him and it’s like he’s trying not to see her. “It’s not… Everything will sort itself out shortly, my lord, please do not worry. You shouldn’t waste your concern on me - I don’t want you to.”

“It’s not a _waste_ , I _love_ you, of course I’m going to be concerned about you, you can’t change that.” She thinks back. He’s been like this since Voss but nothing happened on that planet, so what then… _Hoth_. He’d already started to pull away during the flight to Voss. She’d woken up the medbay, recovering from being poisoned, but alone. “Is this about the blaster play? I won’t pressure you into anything again, I promise, I’m so sorry. Or is it because we’ve been working against Imperials? Whatever it is, _I’m sorry_.”

“It’s neither of those. Stop apologizing to me.”

She reaches out to him, “Then tell me, let me help -”

Malavai smacks her hand away, anger flaring in his eyes. “If you wish to help then _stop prying_!”

That’s the first time he’s yelled at her. She recoils from him, clutching her hand to her chest - it doesn’t hurt but she feels like crying.

He balls his hands into fists and pointedly looks away from her. “My lord.”

“Sorry.” Does he hate her? Why can’t she fix this - no. They have a job to do - she has to - she can’t right now. She can’t deal with this. Later, after the job is over, then she can process this but now she’s just spiraling. She turns on her heels and heads toward the skybridge, “We have work. Let’s just… go to the coordinates the Hand gave us. You’re right. Our personal lives should not interfere with our job.”

The silence between them is thick, awkward, and oppressive as they get the speeder up and running to leave.

They take the series of skybridges connecting Corellia spacescrapers. All they have to do is follow the Hand’s directions and it’ll all work out. Gimrizh tucks her knees up to her chest as they fly, her arms wrapped around herself, looking anywhere but at Malavai in the pilot’s seat. She tries to focus on the holo map, intently following their path through the city.

Partway across two buildings she realizes that looking down is a bad idea and stares up, trying not to blink. Her vision blurs.

Handling her emotions isn’t her specialty. Not with her training in the dark side, she’s used to keeping things in unless she’s in a fight, and she doesn’t know how to deal with this kind of anger. For stars sake, she just wants Malavai to talk to her. She loves him. Why can’t he see that whatever he’s dealing with, she’d do anything to help him? She doesn’t want to be pissed off about this but she is.

“... The coordinates point to this building on our left,” she says quietly.

The speeder comes to a stop a few floors below the building’s rooftop landing pad - undoubtedly where the next assassin will land.

She jumps out before the vehicle comes to a complete stop, “Wait here. I’ll take care of the assassin on my own. You’re…” She hates this. “You’re compromised - you’d be a liability in a fight.”

“Yes, my lord,” he replies, bitterness lacing his voice.

Fuck this feels awful.

Gimrizh hurries into the building, taking the lift to the rooftop.

They must have arrived just a little bit too late, there’s already a ship landed up here. _Bounty hunter_ , she guesses, going by the model and the upgrades. She draws her lightsabers and slowly turns around, scanning the landing pad for any traces of the assassin. When she reaches out into the force, she can faintly sense someone nearby but she’s too unfocused and on edge to keep it up.

If only she could be back on _Horizon_ right now. She and Malavai have never argued like this before, she has no way to process it.

“Gimrizh Korribanil.”

She turns to face the bounty hunter, “Who the hell are you?”

He’s a human, armed like a two-rate smuggler but he’s no bounty hunter. That’s an SIS rank badge. Baras hires from within the Republic now? Damn traitor. “Your welcoming committee. Some days you just can’t land secretly on a planet, now can you?”

“If you know what’s good for you, you’d get back on your ship and forget about your assignment.” But she doesn’t want that, not really. She doesn’t want him to leave because if he leaves she won’t get to kill him.

“If you knew who sent me, you’d know that would not be good for me. I know who you are, Korribanil. You’re the apprentice Darth Baras thought he had killed. Marvelous. I’ve studied you, followed your exploits across the galaxy.” The SIS assassin practically grins at her, “You’re something of a personal hero of mine. In my profession, you’re well-known. But I’m somewhat obsessed, I admit.”

“Fucking creep.”

He laughs, “Guilty as charged. It’s an honor to meet you. So sad I’ll have to kill you. I’ve imagined facing you, and given my knowledge, I have pretty good ideas on how to -”

“Shut up and fight,” she snarls, igniting one of her blades and leaping forward, lunging at him.

Killing him will help.

The SIS agent dodges, gaining distance on her, drawing his blasters and aiming. “You fight at close range, a weakness against an opponent that-”

“Beat this.”

Gimrizh raises her free hand and grabs his throat with the force. As angry and sad as she is, tapping into the dark side is easier than ever. Every vein pulses under her fingertips. She can just slowly close her fist, watching him choke and sputter as he dangles in mid air. And the Jedi just give up on their emotions? What a waste. This feels so much better than that.

“If you know everything about me then you’d know that I was briefly imprisoned by the Republic,” she drawls. “SIS agents held me captive, refused me proper medical care, and subjected me to long periods of intensive questioning before finally putting me on trial and giving the Republic enough evidence to sentence me to death. I already don’t like SIS agents, and I have had a _very_ poor day.” She drags him towards her so that she can whisper, “You’re a bastard. And you’re not clever.”

Her fist closes. Bone and blood and sinew is tangible in her mind as she crushes his throat until he finally dies.

Pathetic.

He drops, hitting the ground with a _smack_.

That felt good at the time but now… The dark side dissipates with a rush, leaving her feeling emptier than before and twice as worse. No wonder Malavai is distant. All she does is kill - she’s the worst stereotypes about the Sith Order.

 _Two minutes_ , she tells herself as she tries to get her breathing under control and her hearts rate back down. Two minutes and then she’ll go back down, and pretend that everything’s fine while they get the job done. She has to just focus on the work and everything will be fine. Malavai said that this will sort itself out and she has to believe him.

~*~

They’ve got the word from Rakton.

As Foris and the other three members of black ops crouch behind a barricade, waiting for the snipers on the other side of the Bastion to distract the guards, he savors the moment. He’s spent years planning for this, dreaming of it. At last, his chance to put black ops down in history. To strike a critical blow for the Republic and preferably rub it in their faces afterwards. Yeah, a little bit of face rubbing would really top this off.

His tactical comm displays the time as they countdown to when the snipers begin. They start shooting, the guards over here will be distracted, Foris and his team drop the first of the short range emps.

And… time. On cue, they hear the blaster bolts go off.

Tanido drops the first emp and activates it, shutting down all holos, cameras, and everything but their tactical comms. Those have been preemptively coated with lead and will have to be disposed of after the mission. They wait a moment as Arlos checks to make sure it worked and then they proceed.

Foris and Lorant peak the guards, taking them out.

“Let’s go,” Foris orders.

They rush the doors, which open easily given that the locks were electronic. This is a side hallway, not one of the more wide open ones, mostly used for droids. Tighter corridors aren’t good, but they’ll help with avoiding encountering more guards. The four of them can only do so much, especially given that Lorant has orders to turn back if it goes south. This route will get them to the main servers while encountering minimal patrols.

The only downside is that speed will be of the essence. They’ll have limited forces attacking the Bastion from the front. Every minute they spend getting the data is a minute that their allies could be dying.

“Up ahead,” Arlos says as they rush through the corridors, “On the left-”

Foris shushes him. They’ve all got the schematics memorized.

There’s an intersection up ahead, should be a patrol - yup -

He and Arlos drop to their knees so that Lorant and Tanido can shoot over them. They take the team by surprise and wipe them out.

“Arlos,” Foris checks the hallways around them, shooting a guard that turns the corner in the back. “Drop another.”

“Got it, boss.” Arlos drops the second emp and then they’re off again.

They kill another squad and drop the third emp before making it to the central room that stores the databases - that protects every single piece of information regarding the Corellian shipyards. Processing, shipping, manufacturing, everything the Empire needs to recreate it for themselves. Once they have this, they won’t even need to win Corellia.

Foris waves Tanido forward when the reach the door. He and Lorant watch their backs while they break in.

Given that they can’t use the emps to open the door without risking destroying everything on the servers, they have to get in manually.

Tanido withdraws a large circular device from his pack and places it over the locks. There’s a suction noise as it adheres to the door. “Give me… thirty seconds,” Tanido informs them as he activates the device.

A Foris doesn’t specialize in these sorts of mechanics, his understanding of how the device works is limited. But he can hear the sounds of what Tanido informed them are lasers cutting through the solid foot of durasteel between them and the servers. Twenty-nine seconds later, the doors slide open.

The device has ejected a burnt chip and is leaking coolant. Tanido looks at it in disappointment, “Man. The lead coating was not nice to my baby. Guess that’s ruined forever.”

Foris just pats him on the back, “You can make another one.”

There’s no one guarding the server room when they enter, even though they check and clear the room twice. A room this massive, this important, should have some guards in reserve, even with the commotion that their forces outside are causing. Something about this makes the hairs on the back of Foris’s neck stand up straight.

“Am I the only one thinking trap?” Lorant asks.

“No.” Foris pries open one of the server cabinets and lets the two techies get to work, “But we’re here now. We don’t exactly have a choice. Let’s just get the data and get out before they can spring the trap.”

Tanido starts ripping wires before Arlos takes over. “Yeah, this is way more encoded than necessary,” Arlos confirms, “I can still get in, but it might take a bit longer than we originally thought.”

Yeah, this might be trouble.

“Tanido, inform Rakton that we’ll be kept long,” Foris orders, “Arlos, keep working, work _faster_. Lorant… I can’t order you around but I need some help barricading the every door but the one we came in through. Republic reinforcements are least likely to come in through the back, like we did. This should slow them down if they come after us.”

“Yeah, sure,” Lorant agrees, sarcastically cheerful. “This is undoubtedly a trap.”

Yeah, they’re probably fucked.

~*~

Gimrizh takes deep breaths as they walk into the _painfully obvious_ Republic military operation. It might be a brilliant front, but it goes against every fiber of her being to just stroll in without her weapons drawn. And she’s heartbreakingly aware of Malavai watching her back. They have to do their jobs even though they haven’t really spoken since the argument.

“Sith, are you lost?” the Republic captain guarding the desk demands, “You’re in a Republic aligned corporate headquarters.”

She holds up her hands, “Stand down. We are on the same side.”

“I - uh - don’t know what you’re talking about.” With a very tiny hand motion, he points the holo security cameras out to her. Ah, she supposes that if this is part of a Republic security operation then the Republic actually would be watching as least the front entrance.

“We’re here to surrender,” she says, giving him a very clear look. “You should take us into custody.”

He nods, “Follow me then. We’ll take you to the chief of security.”

The rest of the Republic - or Imperial? - soldiers let them pass while he slides an ID card through a security field. It deactivates and he follows the two of them in.

“Thank you for helping me avoid a messy situation, my lord,” he says once they’re in, his voice back to a Kaasian accent, “I’m Captain Garrett, I apologize for the front out there. The consortium of corporations has cameras in every corporate lobby, so we were being observed by the Empire’s enemies. Luckily, they aren’t heavily monitored, so we should be alright. You know who’s headquarters these are, I take it?”

“Darth Vowrawn,” she replies, “We need to speak with him immediately. His life depends on it.”

Garrett leads them through the lush, carpeted halls of the corporate building, “I understand, my lord. Lord Qet is in charge. He’s just down here. I’ll deactivate the security fields for you from the lobby. Good luck.”

He leaves them to head down into the building in silence.

Time to get this over with.

In the basement, deep in the bowels of the corporate spacescraper, is a massive strategy room, of clear Imperial design. It wouldn’t be out of place in the Citadel on Dromund Kaas, or in a Star Destroyer. At last, something familiar. She’s been out of touch with the Empire for so long that she shouldn’t be surprised by how much she’s missed this.

Three Sith are the only visible inhabitants, but none of them are pureblood - Vowrawn’s not among them.

“Stay back, scum.” That must be Lord Qet. He’s got pureblood ancestry tattoos on his face and he looks like he’s in charge. “The alarms didn’t sound - you must have gone through the front guards. Garrett might not know who you are, but we do.” He slowly makes his way around the table, lightsaber hilt in hand, “Our duty is to protect Lord Vowrawn, we will not let Darth Baras’s assassin through.”

Oh for - “I am not aligned with Baras. Quite the opposite in fact. I’m here to destroy him, rip apart everything he’s worked for, shred his power hungry ambitions to pieces, and finally kill him. I share Vowrawn’s goal.”

Qet scoffs, “My master has been on to you from the beginning - we won’t risk his safety on a lapdog’s lies.”

“Rude,” she snaps at him.

“We’ll see your tune change when you’re bleeding to death.” Qet ignites his blade, joined by the other two sith behind him.

Damn it, she doesn’t want to kill Vowrawn’s guards, she’s supposed to be _protecting_ Vowrawn. Not to mention, overcoming three Sith Lords at once doesn’t exactly sound like her idea of a good time. She rests her hands over her hilts, glancing between the three of them, looking for weaknesses.

“Stop.”

All five of them look over to the other side of the room. A pureblood Sith strides in, dripping in elegant robes and golden jewelry, an ornate lightsaber hanging from his belt. There’s no way that’s _not_ Vowrawn.

“Lord Qet,” the sith orders, “Stand down.”

Qet reluctantly lowers his blade, still glaring at Gimrizh as he says, “My lord, please, retreat into the shadows. We will stop this assassin.”

“There could be ten of you, and you would fail.” Vowrawn waves them off, “Leave us.”

“You have it all wrong,” Gimrizh tells them. “I’m not here to kill you.”

Vowrawn raises an eyebrow, “Please. Don’t insult my intelligence. In fact, I applaud you. Convey my congratulations to your master for his superior gameplay. The kill is yours - I only ask that I not suffer the indignity of decapitation.”

“How many times do I have to… I am not here to kill you. For force - listen, I’m here to _protect_ you. I’ve stopped two of Baras’s assassins on my way here, but there’s a third that we haven’t located. Baras is not my master and I _wish_ people would stop saying he is - he tried to kill me! My mission is to bring him down.”

It’s a jolt to her hearts when Malavai speaks up behind her, “Lord Gimrizh has been sent by the Emperor’s Hand.”

“So, not shady at all then,” Vowrawn replies so flatly that it must be sarcastic. “Although, I don’t suppose you have much reason to maintain the deception. If you are the assassin, nothing more can be gained for you.” He grins, “Ah! If this is true, then the game is renewed!”

That’s when a small, spherical object rolls between them.

“Grenade!” Qet yells, using the force to pull the table in front of his allies.

Gimrizh reacts differently, slamming her palm towards the bomb, casting it backwards towards whoever threw it.

It explodes less than a second later.

A cloud of smoke and fire erupts just far enough away from them to save their lives. And possibly end the assassin’s, if the strangled scream of pain is anything to go by.

Once the table drops, Vowrawn waves his fingers at the smoke, forcing it to dissipate and reveal the assassin.

It’s a Weequay bounty hunter - or it was. Now the figure is covered in vicious looking burns and blood splatters, and there’s more blood pooling beneath the body. Enough blood to confirm his death. Whoever he was, his presence in the force is gone. There’s the flickering remains of a stealth generator around his body, so at least that explains how he got in undetected.

“You need better security,” she tells Vowrawn.

He stares at the corpse, “That assassin had me dead to rights. And you… you did not hesitate to defend me.” In a rapid switch, Vowrawn turns back to her and declares, “My friend, I am convinced. What’s more, I believe - with my help - you can defeat Darth Baras.”

“That’s good news. I’m happy to work with you.”

“In that vein of honesty, I have a little confession to make. It’s true that I’m here to assist with the war effort, but there are other reasons I chose Corellia. Baras has significant aspects of his power base located here, and I plan to take them out.”

“Yes, but Baras has resources. It won’t take him long to dispatch more assassins.”

“Good point.”

“Why don’t you stay here, get all your defences shored up, and I’ll go out and do all the power-base destroying?”

“That will work nicely. You see, most of the Dark Council knows Baras is not the true Voice of the Emperor, but Baras has ways of forcing them to support his bid. He has an agent safeguarding secrets that he uses as leverage. Now… if that agent were to disappear…” Vowrawn trails off suggestively. “I imagine his support on the Council would suddenly see the situation in a new light.”

At last. Another job. Gimrizh quickly replies, “Just tell me where to go.”

“Baras’s undercover agent is posing as Colonel Senks of the Corellian resistance. His stronghold is supposed to be a labyrinth of secret passages. Unless you scramble his security codes before laying siege, he’ll be able to escape through a dozen different escape passages. In truth, he’s a fantastic resource. It’ll be a shame to lose an agent of his caliber.”

“I’m going to kill him regardless of how good he is at his job,” she tells him. “And not to worry about the security codes - my… My captain is a top-notch slicer.”

“Well that’ll do it. Good luck.”

She frowns at him, “You’re very chipper for someone who was almost assassinated a minute ago.”

“I’m always about to be assassinated,” Vowrawn says lightly, “I run about a quarter of the Empire and Baras has despised me for years. Most assassins aren’t usually this _good_ , but it’s not exactly a rarity. If you want to break my good mood, you’ll have to try much harder.”

Damn, his life sounds horrible. Crazy weirdo.

~*~

Vette’s bouncing with anticipation as she and Jaesa lead the kids up to the rooftop, Emmerage watching their back and Jaesa keeping a force-metaphorical eye on the Green Jedi’s location. Although she’s kept in touch with Risha through holo and email, seeing her in person feels like her birthday and life day all rolled into one. She’ll get to _hug_ Risha! Her first adopted sister ever and it’s been almost a year since they met in person.

After everything with Tivva and her mother, it’ll be good to see family that’s not angry with her, or dead.

“Risha and Zirin have arrived on the roof, I can sense their presence,” Jaesa informs them.

They pile the kids into the lift first, then wait for it to zoom up to the top floor.

Arana, the tiniest Togruta girl, tugs shyly on Jaesa’s sleeve, “Um? Master Willsaam? How do you sense them? I can’t and Vie says I’m best at it.”

Oh stars, Vette wishes she had a holo camera on her right now. The look on Jaesa’s face at being called ‘Master Willsaam’ is both adorable and hilarious. “Oh, um,” Jaesa flounders, “There’s no need to call me that, please, ‘Jaesa’ is just fine. Ah… sensing, yes? I have… well I have a unique ability with that skill. I’m sure you’ll be just as good at it as I am, given time and diligent study.”

Arana pouts, “But I don’t want to study.”

“You, I like,” Vette grins at the girl, “Did you know I _never_ attended school?”

“Never?” Arana asks, gasping at her like she’s an icon. Vette loves it. Children are awesome, she wants to pick this kid up and teach her the ways of the thief.

Jaesa sighs fondly, “Babe, please don’t glorify a lack of education.”

“I don’t need to glorify it, no one likes school.”

“I like school…” Emmerage grumbles, “I used to be a teacher - without educational facilities I’d have been out of a job years ago. And I would never have met these three and thus would not have arrived on Corellia to rescue them. Don’t condemn systems just because you haven’t experienced them.”

Yeesh, way to be far more serious than necessary.

The lift arrives on the roof, doors sliding open with a _ding_.

Sitting right in front of them is the _Torrent_ in all it’s dingy glory, gangplank rolling down as they watch. Vette’s never seen this ship in person, but it matches Risha’s descriptions to letter, right down to crappy, glitter covered blaster spray-painted onto the hull, the logo sitting next to a nameplate declaring this ship to be the worst named smuggler ship in the galaxy. It might not be pretty, but in Vette’s eyes it reminds her of her childhood with Nok Drayen and his crew. This ship would seamlessly fit in with his old rag-tag fleet of ships. No wonder Risha has decided to stay aboard _Torrent_.

And then Risha’s walking down the gangplank and Vetta abandons the group to run forward and propel herself into her sister’s arms.

“Oh stars I’ve missed you,” she murmurs as she and Risha cling to each other.

Risha nods, the movement getting loose strands of her hair to tickle Vette’s cheek, “It’s been too long.”

When she starts to get sniffly and teary, Vette pulls back. “I’ll say it’s been too long. How’s sauntering about the galaxy and getting into fights going?”

“Not half bad,” Risha’s eyes turn sad, “I’m so sorry about your mother.”

“Thanks.”

“Bet you’re tired of people asking if you’re okay.”

“Yeah, just a bit.”

“Then I won’t ask,” Risha replies. She turns and yells into the ship, “Zirin, get out here! Our guests have arrived!”

It sounds like Zirin trips at least five times before he stumbles out through the main hatch. He’s got nothing but grins for Vette and the five people behind her, “Hey! Good to see you again! Come on, come on in! We uh, don’t have clearance to be on Corellia for long, so it’s probably best to get out of here in a speedy sort of manner, yeah?”

“Smugglers…” Emmerage grumbles, even though he’s already quickly leading his kids onto _Torrent_.

It’s only a minute of shuffling before everyone’s inside and Risha’s closing the ship up behind them. Smugglers, Vette thinks proudly, are always efficient and speedy. How else would they avoid the authorities?

The inside of _Torrent_ , like a lot of Corellian models, is circular inside, with one main corridor wrapping around the ship.

“Where’s the rest of your crew?” Jaesa quietly asks Zirin, “Given the argument we overheard… well I presumed…”

He sighs and scratches his head nervously, “Yeah… They’re staying behind on the spacedock we were at when you holoed us. We’ve got a - well a pretty important client we’re working with right now and we thought it would be best to keep half the crew with them. I needed to leave, cause a ship don’t fly without her captain, and of course Risha came to see Vette. So we left Corso in charge. Might not have been my smartest move ever, but he’s arguing the least - so far, anyway.”

Vette does not envy him the headache he must be dealing with. “Who the hell is your client?”

Nervously, and with a good deal of ‘ahems’ and ‘wells’, Zirin finally says, “Confidential. Sorry. I - uh, wish I could tell you.”

“O...kay. Well, I won’t press,” Vette backs off with a shrug - but damn it, now she’s _really_ curious.

“Alright,” Zirin says, turning to face the rest of the group, “Let me lay down some ground rules, especially given that there are smalls on board.”

“I’m a _kid_ , not a _small_ ,” Vie huffs.

He ruffles her montrals, “Sure, kid. Cute danglies by the way, that a padawan thing?”

Vie flips her string of padawan beads over her shoulder, “Yeah. Mine’s longest.” She points to a bead, “This one I got for acing my diplomacy class with the Greenies. We’re gonna chop ‘em off once we get off planet cause we’re not Jedi traitors.”

“Okay, you got goals, cool,” Zirin claps his hands behind his back and addresses the group again, “Where was I? Ground rules? Alright, I can drop you at an unaligned spaceport, but I can’t get you as close to Imperial space as I imagine you’d like. Had my ship flagged for working with the Republic way too many times to get you to somewhere like Dromund Kaas. Or, well, I couldn’t do it without a _shit_ ton of preparation. So, while we get you somewhere, no dicking around with anything dangerous looking, but if you see something you _do_ want to dick around with, it’s cool, just ask me or Risha first.”

Emmerage slowly shakes his head in disbelief, “I’m uncertain if you would be a terrible father or a very good one.”

There’s an awkward look exchanged between Risha and Zirin before he shrugs, “Both?”

“Let’s not go there,” Risha quickly adds.

Zirin gestures for Emmerage to follow him, “Do you wanna join me on the bridge? I imagine you’d like to keep an eye on where we’re headed and all. Kids are also welcome on the bridge, although it might be a bit cramped.”

“I wanna see the bridge!” Petris chimes in.

“Thank you.” Emmerage bows very respectfully to Zirin - maybe Vette was wrong about this sith dude, he’s starting to grow on her. Like a fungus. “I would greatly appreciate it.”

Jaesa presses a quick kiss against Vette’s cheek, “I’ll join them on the bridge as well. You and Risha deserve some time alone, to catch up. I know you’d prefer that.”

There really is something to be said for having a psychic girlfriend.

~*~

Gimrizh kicks down the first set of security doors, leaving a metal wreckage behind them as they move into Colonel Senks’s base.

So far they haven’t met as much resistance as she would have liked to see. Just a bunch of really pathetic pubs that can’t combat sith to save their lives. A few laser fields have blocked their path down here, but given that Malavai had sliced through the system before they entered, they have all the necessary codes to clear their path while simultaneously blocking off Senks’s escape routes. She doesn’t want to complain about an easy fight. She’d just prefer to blow off more steam.

“The map shows Senks’s main command center to be just up ahead, my lord,” Malavai informs her. His tone is still cold, still distant, and she’s ashamed to say that she’s done nothing but reply in kind.

They encounter two guards in front of them when they turn the corner - Gimrizh throws one of them against the wall so hard that his neck snaps and then she stabs the other through the heart. It’s effortless, instinctive, and she’s not sure if she hates it or wishes that there were more enemies to take care of.

She turns to the keypad that’s keeping the durasteel doors locked, “Code?”

“It’s identical to the last door - I changed them all to the same password.”

“Ah.”

Gimrizh enters the string of numbers and waits for the doors to slide open.

Inside is possibly the smallest command center she’s ever seen, just a simple meeting table and a computer terminal pushed against the wall. The only person is Senks, furiously punching the buttons on the terminal. No guards? How foolish. He must be overconfident in his ability to escape, or there are more guards posed along the passageways that he’s relying on.

“I know this code is right…” he mutters to himself. He waves Gimrizh over without even looking at her, “Lieutenant, come take a look at this.”

She takes a step forward, palming her lightsaber hilts as she does so. “I’m afraid you’ve got it quite wrong.”

He whirls around, staring at the two of them before sighing in relief, “Don’t strike.I’m uncertain who sent you here, but you’ve got the wrong information. I’m a secret Imperial agent working directly for Darth Baras.”

“That’s not news to me,” Gimrizh replies. “I know who you are - you’re Baras’s secret keeper.”

“My work keeps rogue Imperial elements from destabilizing the Empire,” Senks recites. It’s like he doesn’t even think about his job, he’s just following some damn script Baras gave him. A mindless lacky. And here she thought that Baras had more use for clever spies, although perhaps it was a better choice for him to keep all his most valuable blackmail material in the hands of someone who doesn’t understand its importance.

Malavai draws his blaster, glaring at Senks with burning hatred that she hasn’t seen in him since he killed Broysc. “There’s no use being civil with Baras’s agents, my lord.”

That’s _hardly_ what she’s doing, “Then you can shoot him yours-”

He fires.

Senks hits the ground, a blaster hole in the center of his forehead faintly smoking. Of all the shots Malavai’s failed to take lately, she hadn’t been expecting _Senks_ to be the one he actually hit. They didn’t even know the man, it wasn’t personal. They might have even been able to convince him to give up some information with a time and luck - although Gimrizh wasn’t really considering that route.

“Fine,” she mutters.

She takes over working the computer terminal, nudging Senks’s body out of the way with her foot. At least he’d already opened everything up for her. If he hadn’t, she would have needed Malavai’s help. It’s pretty easy for her to get all the information into one place - Senks was apparently very uncreative in naming the files.

“I’ll holo Vowrawn,” she mutters, sticking the files onto a data wafer that she plugs into her holo.

Vowrawn appears in a standard burst of blue light, “Oh, I’m getting the information right now, one moment.” He turns to something out of the holo’s field and looks it over, “Yes, this is the information Baras holds over my fellow Dark Council members. Outstanding work. This is the spirit the Empire needs.”

“What else needs to be done on Corellia?”

“The end game is upon us. We must both go on the offensive.”

“What about the assassins that Baras has no doubt sent after you?”

“I’ll take my security force with me as I proceed. Although I appreciate your concern.”

“Very well then. Tell me what you have in mind.”

As though he’s giving her a present, Vowrawn enthusiastically explains, “In a secret lair on this planet, Baras has bound and indentured an ancient Sith spirit. He uses this spirit’s power, stealing her visions of the future when she has them. Much of what he has built has come from her insights.”

How much _does_ Baras truly know? “These… _visions_ … can you give me more detail?”

“I’ve been able to guess the scope of the spirit’s talents based on the moves Baras has made. My hypothesis is that she can predict larger galactic patterns, but not an individual’s movements. Otherwise I would not have survived this long as his enemy.” Vowrawn pauses at that, “Well, unless he was _truly_ incompetent, which I know not to be the case.”

“Why haven’t you acted on this before now?”

“You don’t think I’ve tried? It’s the main reason I came to Corellia myself, but I had to be patient. There was _research_ involved - only I know the way to break the spirits bonds. That’s why I must go myself.”

“Alright. Then that’s our next move.”

“I shall send you the location and meet you there. We will strike the ultimate blow, crippling Baras from within.”

“Then I am one step closer to finally confronting Baras…”

“We achieve this, and I will walk you into the Dark Council chambers myself.”

That’s it then. For better or worse, this is the last move she must make before she faces Baras one on one.

~*~

“How’s the transfer?” Janise Lorant asks Arlos, pacing back and forth across the shiny durasteel floor.

He doesn’t take his eyes off the screen as he replies, “96 percent. Should be done in a few minutes. Then I’ll just need to scramble the Republic turrets - we disabled them with the emps but it’s pretty likely they’ll have gotten at least one up and running by now. If I don’t send out a scramble, we’ll be hit by them on our way out.”

“Good.” She keeps pacing, “Work faster.”

Pierce looks up at her and frowns. He’s lurking in the corner, meticulously reloading and checking his blaster.

He knows just as well as she that their clock has been sped up. This is a trap - without doubt. And they’re sitting and just waiting for it to spring. She needs to determine if the mission is worth continuing - that’s her _job_. She’s here to pull the plug if necessary and instead of doing her job, she’s just turning the idea over in her head.

“How’s the transfer?” she asks again.

“97 per- Damn it, Lorant, I can’t work faster than this!”

Pierce jumps to his feet, “Both of you, shut it! There’s a transmission coming through on the comms.”

Twenty credits says it’s the trap being sprung. All four of them hold their tactical comms to their ears and listen. There’s a few bursts of static, the sounds of blaster fire, and then finally a Rakton’s voice coming through clearly.

“ _Pub reinforcements coming in! Black ops team - this is an order to fall back. Front line reports say it’s Havoc Squad_.”

Shit. Fuck. Krething Havoc Squad.

“They’ll be coming through straight to us,” Pierce says quickly, “If they knew we were planning this - and they must have if _Havoc_ is here - then they’d know we’re after the information. If they’re coming through the front, we can get out through the back, same way we got in. It’ll still be clear.”

Tanido coughs, “Hate to break that, but we haven’t gotten the turrets down.”

They’d be shot down if they tried to make a break through the back entrance now. “How long till you can get the turrets down?”

“Download is at 99 percent,” Arlos says, furiously typing into the computer input field, “I can deactivate the turrets as soon as it finishes, but it will take time. I… don’t know how long it will take Havoc to get in here, but it’ll be close. Very close.”

Pierce grabs the rest of the emps that they have on hand. He tosses four of them to Tanido and one to Janise, “Set these in the corners of the room, we’ll detonate them once we have the turrets down. Lorant - use this as needed.”

In that moment, when the two of them lock eyes, they both know what she needs to do. This is her crew, her team, her… family. But the Empire is bigger than this. Pierce silently nods at her, like absolution for what she’s about to do. They might not always get along, but she’s always known that Pierce understood his duty to the Empire just the same as she does. She doesn’t leave her team behind, not usually. This will be the last exception to that.

“Hand me the data card,” she tells Arlos, “and then get the turrets down.”

He and Tanido stare at her before Arlos quietly unplugs the data card, now loaded with every file in the Bastion’s servers, and hands it over to her.

“We’ll cover your retreat.” Pierce hefts his blaster into the crook of his shoulder and turns to face the barricaded doors. “Buy you some time.”

She presses the data chip to her forehead in farewell, “Good luck.”

~*~

Gimrizh leans over the railing, staring absently at the streets of Axial Park. In the distance is the jagged shape of a former Imperial embassy that now houses this mysterious spirit. She’s supposed to be checking the area for signs of any potential assassins. Instead, she’s just looking at nothing, letting the warm breeze brush against her hair and the sunlight sink into her skin.

She can hear soft footsteps as Malavai approaches her. Silently, he hands her a pair of macrobinoculars.

The metal is cold and heavy. Even as she grips them tighter and tighter they don’t warm up with the heat of her hands. The emptiness between them seems to stretch on into infinity, threatening to stay cold forever in her hearts, like a wall that she can’t seem to cross no matter how hard she tries or how desperately she wants to reach him.

She opens her mouth and then closes it again. What can she say that she hasn’t already?

“I…” Malavai starts, his voice breaking, “I’m sorry.”

It feels like something inside herself starts to thaw. She stares up at him in surprise, her jaw hanging ever so slightly open. “I - I as well.”

When she looks, really looks, she can see the cracks in him. There’s that well of sadness in his eyes that’s been lingering since Voss. It’s as though he’s only just holding himself together, like if he took off his stiff uniform he’d fall apart without a mission to guide him. She’s seen that look in herself often enough to recognize it in him. He’s coming apart at the seams, silently and in slow motion, and she doesn’t know how to stop it.

“I acted horribly towards you,” he whispers, “I was rude and brutish and - it was unwarranted. I should not have reacted to your kindness with anger.”

She gently rests her hand against his arm, “I was pushing, I shouldn’t have.”

“Please do not try and excuse my actions, don’t do that to me. Don’t do that to _yourself_ ,” he asks, almost begging her. What is it that she can’t see, what’s hurting him so? He laughs, only it’s bitter and choked off, “Sometimes I resent your compassion. Things would be so much easier if you were cruel.”

“We would not be together if that were the case,” she reminds him, “and I think that would be the cruelest thing of all.”

That must have again been the wrong thing to say. He tenses beneath her palm as though her words have struck him. “Perhaps that would have been a mercy in it’s own right. You would be better off without me. You have no idea -” He looks like he’s trying to stop himself from speaking, “You should have saved your love for someone who deserved it. Not someone like me.”

“Stop that, please,” she asks. She steps closer to him, trying to fill the gap that’s formed between them. As though he can’t help it, he automatically rests his hands around her waist, clinging to her just as much as she is to him, in his own way.

“I was an idiot to fall in love with you, and you were kinder than I ever deserved to love me in return.”

“Don’t say that.” Gimrizh presses her head against his chest, letting the macrobinoculars fall to the ground so that she can hold onto his jacket. The beat of his heart is so familiar to her. It’s racing now, a faster tempo than she knows. “If you don’t want to be with me, I will never force you to stay. But I love you. And if you love me, then we can make this work. Regardless of anything else - Baras, the war, the Jedi, the Sith - none of it can stop us if we try. I love you too much to just give up. Let me help you.”

She can feel him shaking slightly.  “What if there’s nothing to be done?” he asks. _You cannot help_ , his voice says.

How can there be nothing? She hates feeling so useless, so incapable, so _pointless_ . There’s always _something_ she can do for him, there has to be. She’d kill anyone for him if he asked, travel to the edges of the galaxy, fight the whole war on her own. A year ago she already realized she’d die if it meant he could live. That she’d drown if it would give him another breath of air. She cannot lose someone she loves again. As much as she is scared to die, the thought of continuing in the face of sorrow and loss _again_ is worse than she can handle. Can’t he see that?

All he needs to do is tell her what the problem is and she will do everything in her power to make things right again.

“There’s always something that I can do.”

“... I wish there was.”

“I thought I told you.” She tries to make her words stay with him, tries to show that _she_ will stay with him if he asks. “I have loved you for a long time now. Whatever challenges there might be, I’d rather face them a thousand times over with you at my side than once alone. If you think that this might hurt me, I’d rather be hurt everyday than risk never seeing you again. Whatever this is, we can fix it.”

Malavai brings a hand to her cheek, his eyes wet with tears that he’s not shedding. He tilts her head up and kisses her.

Whatever dam had built up in Gimrizh’s chest breaks. Kissing him after so long a period of ice is a relief, it’s better than she remembered, and it’s such a gift that he initiated - that he wants this as well. Her lips tremble against his as she submits herself entirely to the feeling of being held, being kissed, being loved.

It’s like Malavai’s making up for lost time, for the weeks of them being apart, for all his coldness lately. She can tell how reluctant he is to let her go when they finally part. There’s no sign of tears anymore.

“I missed you,” she admits, the words almost sounding like a question.

He pulls back, purposefully keeping his hands an inch above her skin. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. It was just an argument. I forgive you.”

“Don’t. Don’t say that, don’t - You have no idea how sorry I am.”

“Well,” she says, trying to be lighter, “Given by how apologetic you are, I suppose I do. Please, you needn’t keep apologizing.”

He’s falling apart in front of her, the mirror blue of his eyes shattering as she watches, “I am so sorry. I love you so much and I can’t - I can’t stop hurting you. I never wanted this - I never thought I would fall in love with you, I never wanted to do this to you, I am more sorry than you know and I cannot tell you how greatly I wish things were different. That you would offer forgiveness without even knowing my transgressions -”

“Malavai, stop, please, I don’t understand.”

“You will.”

That doesn’t make any sense. Why won’t he just _talk_ to her?

Suddenly the force _screams_ at her, flooding her veins with adrenaline, shocking her like lightning. She stumbles backwards, clutching her shirt over her hearts. “Something’s wrong! I - I can’t sense it, but there’s something - !”

She whirls her head around to look at the building that they’re supposed to be casing, certain that she’ll see a team of assassins, or a massive fire, or a squadron of Republic troops - something to warrant this sort of alarm. The force pulses it’s warning through her body even as she sees nothing amiss. What’s going on?

Her vision blurs.

“Something’s wrong - the force, it’s trying to warn me, I don’t know what’s going on -”

“It’ll all be over soon,” Malavai says quietly.

“What is it?”

Gimrizh’s hearts skip a beat, she can’t focus her eyes on what’s in front of her. She can’t get her sight to cooperate. Her legs feel weak.

Darkness swirls in. Vaguely, in a swimming image, she can see Malavai use his fingernails to remove a transparent waxy sheet from his lower lip. What -? Her knees give out and she falls, unable to stop it.

Malavai catches her before she hits the ground. “Please don’t forgive me.”

The blackness claims her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's that folks. Yell at me, if you so choose, I do deserve it.


	29. Too Much Love Will Kill You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger last chapter, here, have some sadness. Shoutout to Riajade01 for betaing and being awesome  
> This chapter, aka: Things don't go according to General Rakton's plan, Vette and Jaesa come to the rescue, and Gimrizh is... gone.

Lord Qet flicks blood off his lightsaber hilt and clips it back onto his hip. He steps over the dead Republic soldier, scanning the massive chambers for anything suspicious. But there’s nothing - still. It’s _suspiciously_ empty. “That’s the last of the guards, my lord,” he tells Vowrawn, returning to his master’s side. “The building is clear - no sign of assassins either.”

“And Korribanil?” Vowrawn asks.

“We haven’t seen her or anyone on her crew, and it doesn’t look like there’s been a forced entry anywhere in the building. She’s not further in. There’s been no attempted contact on the comms. My lord, she might not have been telling us the truth.”

“Surely I taught you better than that - she killed Baras’s most important information keeper. What sensical plan would involve doing that only to abandon us here? No assassins, no guards, the only thing that _is_ here is a clear path to the entity. Yes, this is _clearly_ an elaborate plot to trap and kill us,” Vowrawn adds sarcastically.

Qet could have done without the sass, but that’s irrelevant. They were supposed to get the all-clear from Korribanil before entering the building, as well. He _does_ approve of their decision to go in, after waiting over an hour past the scheduled contact. Given that they’ve faced little to no resistance, it was hardly unsafe for Vowrawn to enter. Still, Qet would prefer it if they knew where Korribanil is for certain. Having her just be silent and absent is a bit unnerving, especially when he considers how adamant she was about reaching Vowrawn in the first place.

If she’s just dropped contact like this, either she was fooling them from the start, which, as his master says, doesn’t add up. Or something has happened to her to prevent any contact on her end. Which could mean that Baras’s assassins got her.

Vowrawn hums in thought, “Try contacting her _ship_ instead. We might reach her crew that way and have better luck.”

Perhaps - although Qet suspects that her crew should have been the ones to reach out if there was any new information. He gives the signal for Olae and Harresh to watch the entrances while he pulls out his holo.

They wait quietly as the call goes through, rings, and then eventually fails.

“Hm, no response. I do love a good mystery.” Vowrawn strokes one of his tendrils, “Alas, we can’t sit around waiting for our friend to join us. Continue the mission and attempt to find Korribanil after the entity has been dealt with. After all, I did make some Council Chamber related promises to the woman, and I intend to follow through.”

“Master, isn’t confronting Baras in front of the Council… risky?”

“Of course it is. That’s why _I_ will stand back and enjoy the view as our new friend punches Baras in the face.”

While that might be amusing, Qet doesn’t see the _necessity_ of the Zabrak woman. “Or we could deal with Baras on our own.”

“My dear Qet, you need to think this through,” Vowrawn replies, grinning from ear to ear. “I am hardly a fighter, unlike our prickly new friend. Besides, one Councilor killing another is usually frowned upon. If this Korribanil truly has the support of the Hand, then she’s hardly going to be reprimanded for killing Baras. I couldn’t make such an obvious power grab with impunity. But her? She already _has_ all the power that she needs, or she will, once Baras is dead.”

“You really do not think she has betrayed us? I don’t trust her a bit.”

“Trust her? I didn’t live this long by trusting people. I do _like_ her - she really throws a hydrospanner in the works between me and Baras.”

“She’s _not_ reliable.”

“Clearly. That’s why we are completing this on our own. Do try and keep up.”

~*~

“We need backup, we need backup, we _need backup!_ ” Tanido yells at Foris. “I know we can’t get any of the troops from outside in here, but we _still_ need backup!”

They’re trapped, and as much as Foris is pissed about it too, yelling won’t help. There’s only one way out - Lorant’s way out. If they take it, they screw her over, compromise the whole mission, and lose the data. So that option is a bust. They need backup, but the forces out front are already hard pressed. Another force-damned bust. And they have no way of beating Havoc Squad - except to be flat out better than then.

Which… Foris would never doubt black ops. But this is their first mission in a decade and Havoc has been steamrolling Imperial forces left and right during the renewed war.

He snaps his fingers at Arlos, “Get those turrets down, and _keep_ them down, even if they continue sending pubs to fix them.” He turns his pointed finger to Tanido, “Stop panicking. Kreth, you fizzled being on Tatooine all those years.”

They do need backup. They _really_ need backup.

“I’m calling Lord Gimrizh,” Foris declares, pulling her up on his tactical comm.

There’s… nothing? She’s not answering. Weird, she _always_ answers her comm, _especially_ when they’re planetside, and _absolutely_ when they’re all working. Has something gone wrong with her mission? For a second of sheer, unadulterated panic, he considers the possibility that she’s dead. No - she can’t be. She went after a bunch of Baras’s assassins, sure, but she wouldn’t… she’s better than them.

He comms _Horizon_ next and gets nothing.

“Why isn’t she replying?” Tanido asks, nervously emptying all the weapons out of his bag and arranging them on the terminal, “We need a Sith Lord, boss. We really do.”

Damn it, Foris knows that. They’re fucked without help. “Fine. I’m trying the captain - he went with her.”

That call goes unanswered as well.

If anyone’s anal enough to have a backup to his backup comm, it’s Quinn. Something is seriously wrong. Foris desperately wants to know what the hells is going on. And here he is, trapped in the Bastion’s server room. Unable to figure out what’s happening.

There’s nothing for it, if he can’t get Gimrizh on the holo, he’ll have to call for the second best sith he knows.

Thank the stars - Jaesa’s voice comes through clearly over the comms.

“ _Pierce! I thought you would be busy with the Bastion?”_

“I am. We’re pinned down by Havoc Squad - got no way out. I need your help. Me and the rest of black ops can’t hold out on our own. Anyway you could come bail our sorry asses out? Preferably bringing _Horizon_ with you if you’re near the ship.”

“ _We’re not… but we are on a different ship. Me and Vette can help you out. Is it alright if I use the force to locate you?”_

“Is it alright... ? Of course it is! Do it!”

“ _... Found you. I’m transferring the location to Zirin now - we should be arriving shortly. Hold out till we get there, Pierce. We’re coming as fast as we can. Um. Can I ask? Why aren’t you contacting Master Gimrizh instead? I’m not as much help as she is."_

“She’s… she’s not responding.”

“ _What?”_

“Couldn’t get her on the comms at all.”

“ _Hold on, I’m going to try and reach her through the force…_ ” There’s silence and then Jaesa gasps, “ _I can’t sense her. Either she’s unconscious or… I don’t know. I can try and look deeper, but that’ll take time_.”

“Never mind, we’ll figure it out later. Just concentrate on finding me and getting here in time.”

“ _... Of course. See you shortly, then._ ”

They’re saved. Jaesa’s pretty damn good on the battlefield, and if Vette’s with her, they’re twice as formidable. A good team to have on his side. Zirin, that smuggler, might not be the best addition but at least he’s friendly to Vette. Whatever those two have been getting up to, if Zirin’s involved, it’s sure to be an interesting story.

“All we need to do is hold out and our asses are saved.” Foris informs Tanido and Arlos. “How’s the slicing?”

Arlos swears and throws a piece of plastic covering a server cabinet over his shoulder, before sticking his hands into that mess of wires to rip out a chip. “Not great boss. Have you been hearing those ‘ _shwosh’_ sounds? That’s an enemy slicer deactivating the security doors that I locked. The ones between us and Havoc Squad.”

Shit. “How close are they?”

“I don’t know! They’ve kicked me out of the holo cam feed - I don’t have eyes on them!”

That’s… not great. “Alright. Tanido, what crazy shit did you have in your pockets?”

He holds up a tiny round sphere, “A thermal detonator?”

“Why do you _have_ that, it’d kill all of us?!” Arlos asks, scandalized.

Foris grabs the detonator, “This is a great idea. If we go down, we can take Havoc with us, the bastards.”

Hands still furiously typing, Arlos bangs his forehead against the terminal screen, “Why do I work with you all again?”

Honestly, Foris would like to have that question answered. Now that he knows a bit of Arlos’s background, he’d really like to sit the guy down and have a long chat. Something to look forward to if they make it out of this alive.

Which they have to now. If Jaesa and Vette are coming to help them out, then Foris has an obligation to make sure those two at least survive. Gimrizh, well, she’s a fighter. A sith. She signed up for this. She’s a boss, in charge, and she’s unstoppable. Jaesa’s a kid and a soft heart. Vette’s a kid and technically a civilian. The two of them are the sort of people that he does this job to _protect_.

So that means the thermal detonator might be out of the equation.

Foris gives Arlos a long look, “Figure you’re here cause you think there’s something in the Empire worth fighting for. See if you can get that enemy slicer off of us, buy us some time to set up a -”

An explosion bursts through the room, fire and smoke bringing the door down. Shit - they’re out of time.

A tall Rattataki woman steps inside, slinging a blaster cannon into her arms. Foris manages to glimpse her rank badge - major - right next to the bold Havoc symbol slapped onto her chest plate armor. Then she opens fire.

He throws himself to the ground, pulling down a stack of server cabinets along the way to give him and black ops some cover. “Blow the servers!” he orders, ducking out from their hasty barricade to return fire. A bolt whizzes past his ear as his shot _just_ barely misses the Major’s head.

There must be others behind her, but he can’t see them - and they’re probably circling the room to cut Foris and black ops off. It’s what _he_ would do.

Tanido presses a detonator and all the emps they have left go off.

A giant shower of sparks erupts from the room as every single server goes up in flames. The dust and smoke mixes with the debris from the door explosion, covering the three of them in ash and hopefully being a pain in the ass for the Major to deal with as well.

Major Ishzir of Havoc might have a reputation, but damn it, so does Foris. And he’s not going to let some pub beat him.

~*~

Jaesa draws her lightsaber and centers herself. So much has happened since the last time she was in a fight, it feels like years. She can feel the force flow in and out of her as she breathes, strengthening her, grounding her, expanding her circle of awareness. Vette’s at her side, Emmerage approaching, the children further in the ship, Zirin and Risha at the bridge. It all lights up in her mind, a map in the force.

“ _Holy_ …” Zirin says over the ship’s comms, “ _We’re coming up on the fighting now. I’m lowering the gangplank in a minute, should get you low enough to drop safely_.”

She questions his definition of safety.

“Lord Emmerage,” she says politely, as he’s been standing and hovering for a while now, nervousness roiling in his thoughts, “Is there something you’d like to say? You needn’t involve yourself in this fight. I know that you have no reason to care about the people we are going to rescue, and I understand if your feelings towards the Empire are not entirely positive at the moment, given what the Sith Order did to your students.”

He nods sharply, “You’re right. I have no reason to fight.”

“You can be so rude, I have no idea if I like you or not,” Vette mutters under her breath.

“Listen,” Emmerage continues, “I just wanted to know… why are _you_ doing this? You’re like me - we don’t believe that full dark side immersion is the best way to go about things. So why are you fighting for the Empire when you and the people you care about could get hurt?”

Jaesa thinks about it, and then turns her head to smile at Vette. “Because the people I love are already being hurt.”

“Well, the ones that are fighting down there, yes, but -”

“No,” she cuts him off. “Lieutenant Pierce is in trouble, to be sure. But I wasn’t referring to him. I’m fighting to make the Empire _better_. To improve it from within. Because as it is, it’s harming those I love. And by fighting, by working towards progress, by doing _something_ beyond running and surviving, I can make things better for those I love, and for those like them.”

Emmerage sighs, “I don’t understand you.”

With a flip of her blasters, Vette winks at him, “She loves me, dude. And I’m a Twi’lek. I’m _already_ fucked over by the Empire. Regardless of if I fight or not.”

“Exactly,” Jaesa agrees. She reaches down to squeeze her love’s hand. “But I can work from inside the Sith Order. To change it from within. So that Twi’leks like her, Togrutas and Miralukans like your students, Zabraks like my master - so that they can lead better lives in the Empire. So that light side sith like us can teach our ways of using the force without risking our own lives by speaking to the wrong people.”

He covers his eyes with the back of his gloves, “You didn’t have to bring my students into this. I don’t want to burden them with the prejudice of the Empire.”

“They aren’t dumb,” Vette snaps, “You think they’ll be okay in the Empire, after having worked undercover with the Green Jedi? Anyone not human or pureblood sith is already denied the benefit of the doubt in the Empire.”

“And they will face that prejudice regardless of whether or not you want to burden them with it,” Jaesa adds. “Only action leads to change.”

Vette grins at the Sith Lord, “What she’s trying to say, very politely, is that you should either fight with us, or shut your mouth.”

“No!” Jaesa can feel her cheeks turn bright red, “I did _not_ mean that!”

“Yeah you did, babe.”

Emmerage stares at the hull in front of them, waiting for the doors to open and for them to drop onto the battlefield, “What about now? What does fighting _here_ accomplish?”

“It’ll mean I can trust you to have my back,” Jaesa tells him honestly. “That you’re a friend and ally of mine, and that I am confident we can work together. We’ll still help you if you don’t fight - we’ll get you out of the Empire if you want. But if you stay, if you fight… you might find something more valuable for you and your students.”

“And it’ll mean saving the life of a really cool guy,” Vette adds, “Seriously, he’s chill. I like him.”

“Not to mention,” Jaesa continues, trying to move back to a more important point, “you will be helping the Empire win a major battle. The Sith Order might be angry with you for prematurely extracting your students from their mission, but this could win you back into their good graces. I know that life in the Empire can be a challenge, but the Jedi Order will never take you in, and this is better for you and your students than a life on the run.”

Vette nods enthusiastically, “I’ve done the life on the run thing. It’s not as fun as the holovids make it out to be.”

“Ugh.” Emmerage furrows his brow, his lips tugging downwards, pulling on the ridges that line his cheeks. “ _Marserha_ save me from idealists.”

“Also I didn’t get an education when I lived life on the run.”

“Fine. Fine! I’m doing this so that my students have a better life, and that is it, and if I die, you must swear to me that you will take care of them and ensure that no harm ever comes to them. And I also want an official pardon from you so that regardless of whether or not this mission fails, me and my students can return to Korriban safely.”

That seems reasonable. When they meet up with Master Gimrizh after this, Jaesa is sure her master would be willing to authorize a pardon. “Done,” she agrees, “I am so pleased to have you join us.”

“Yes, fine,” he groans, “Oh I’m a fool for agreeing to this.”

Vette slaps him lightly on the back, grinning at him like a loth cat, “Welcome to the team, Em!”

“As I said, my students can call me ‘Em’, but not -”

“ _Get ready to drop in ten seconds!_ ” Zirin’s voice booms over the speakers, interspersed with the deafening noise of blasters going off, explosions, and yelling.

Jaesa can feel the fighting below them, a writhing sea of pain and anger. When she reaches out with her mind she can taste phantom blood on her tongue and her ears ring from bolts that she hasn’t heard go off. And she can sense Lieutenant Pierce - he’s fighting, in trouble, she _has_ to help. He’s her friend, part of her master’s crew - and the crew is the closest thing she has to a family now.

“Love you,” Vette whispers.

And then the gangplank lowers, letting in blinding yellow light and dust, smoke and debris, screaming and yelling and _chaos_.

~*~

Janise Lorant blasts two pubs in the head, two quick, precise shots and then they’re down, and she keeps running towards the exit.

The datastick burns hot in her pocket. Every step that she takes reminds her of how she’s leaving her team behind and how she might hate it but _damn it_ this is her job and she has to continue moving forward. She has to get the information to General Rakton. She has to get it to the Empire - they need shipyards to rival Corellia’s to win the war, they need to win the war, black ops might be screwed but a thousand squads like them will be just as screwed if they don’t get the necessary firepower on the Empire’s side.

The exit they came in through looms ahead of her - she’s almost out.

Janise runs up to it and kicks it open. She’s out in the open, not a safe position, but the turrets guarding the rooftop aren’t firing - stars bless Arlos. In a moment she’s sprinted across the ground and skids behind a duracrete wall, part of an old building that they used for recon earlier that week.

“General Rakton,” she says into her comms as soon as she’s checked to make sure there aren’t any pubs lurking - they’re all on the other side of the Bastion, she can see and hear the sounds of battle all the way over here. “This is Captain Lorant, I’ve recovered the information from the Bastion’s servers and am proceeding to a safe location.”

“ _Good. And black ops?”_

“Stayed behind to buy me enough time to get out.”

“ _Understood. Proceed to the command bunker, Darth Hadra is waiting for the information before she can get off world_.”

Hadra’s here? Janise hates dealing with Sith.

She gives herself a second to breathe, and then she’s on the run again.

~*~

“There she is,” Vowrawn says, reverent and almost breathless at the sight. “The entity. Such pure, Dark Side energy. Is she not utterly beautiful?”

To be frank, Qet couldn’t care less.

This giant underground enclave might be visually impressive, but it isn’t secure. He’s got Harresh covering the corridors they used to get down here, and Olae is patrolling the building’s perimeter. If he were Baras, this would be an excellent time to stage an ambush. They didn’t have much choice but to separate, which makes them more vulnerable to being picked off one by one. If they want to be on the safe side, they should get this done with as swiftly as possible, which is _not_ helped by Vowrawn stopping to appreciate the entity’s appearance.

Also a decrypt, semi-corporeal woman floating in a containment field doesn’t exactly entice Qet. His master has strange tastes.

“Please proceed with the ritual, master, we are pressed for time.”

Vowrawn starts to bustle around the machinery while Qet keeps watch. “Qet, darling, there hasn’t been a single attempt on my life today, do let me have _some_ fun.”

Good. The constant attempts on his master’s life are going to kill Qet through stress before any assassin gets the chance.

He continues to scan the entrances and exits to the room, checking for anything suspicious. In the meanwhile, to kill time while Vowrawn works, he idly checks the Imperial holonet on Corellia, looking for signs of Gimrizh Korribanil. That is Vowrawn’s next move, after all, and Qet should get on top of it.

Interesting - she’s technically listed as killed in action. Some months ago she was reported dead after a mining accident on Quesh. Must have been Baras’s work. Sloppy work, at that. But there’s another, more promising, flag of her identity. An apprentice named Jaesa Willsaam’s ID was scanned at an Imperial outpost a few days ago, and she apparently listed Korribanil as her master. So her apprentice is alive and still on Corellia, regardless of whatever might have happened to the woman herself.

Qet checks for mentions of Jaesa Willsaam, running her appearance and known associates through the system. And there - he has a list of Korribanil’s crew members.

Her apprentice, Willsaam is listed, along with a very lengthy file on Willsaam’s background that Qet surprisingly doesn’t have clearance to access. Then there’s Captain Malavai Quinn, the officer that they met previously. An ‘unknown Twi’lek associate’ appears in mention as well, but there are no further details. The last crew member is of use. Lieutenant Foris Pierce is on mission under General Rakton, and Vowrawn’s clearance codes can likely get the man’s location. Then Pierce can lead Qet’s master to Korribanil.

This would be so much easier if Vowrawn picked his friends better. But no, he had to decide that a crazy Zabrak woman who vanished off the face of Corellia was the best option.

“Master, can I use your clearance codes to help determine Korribanil’s location?”

There’s a burst of ear-grating noise from the containment field before Vowrawn replies, “Go ahead, I applaud your initiative.”

Sounds like freeing the entity is going well. Qet plugs in the codes and pulls up Pierce’s information - the Bastion? Fun. Their only lead is in a warzone and Vowrawn is still at risk from Baras’s assassins. Although General Rakton and Darth Hadra have a base set up not too far from the action, but far enough to be safer. Perhaps it would be best to head there and wait for the operation to succeed.

Qet turns around in time to see the containment field go down and the entity vanish into dust. “Master?” he calls, “I have a location.”

~*~

Vette sets her blasters to full auto and starts moving down any pub who gets too close while Jaesa blocks bolts with her lightsaber, nothing more than a spinning glow of yellow light with how fast she’s moving her blade. The burn of acrid blaster smoke stings Vette’s nose, making her choke. She hates this. Behind them, Emmerage plunges his saber into the side of the Bastion and carves out a door.

A giant chunk of durasteel, maybe two feet thick, falls to the ground with a thud. “This way!” Emmerage yells, rushing inside as a bolt slams into the wall where his head was a second ago.

Not a moment to waste. Vette jumps in through the hole a moment before Jaesa does. “This would be so much easier if they would stop shooting at us,” she grumbles, “Bailing out Pierce is hard enough as it is. Stupid pubs, unnecessarily complicating things.”

Jaesa gently rests a hand on her shoulder, “I know. Come on, Pierce is close -”

In a roaring burst of noise and debris, a person comes crashing through the inner wall of the Bastion.

“Holy fuck!” Vette leaps backward, almost dropping her blasters in surprise. The whole wall goes down in a shower of rubble, making the three of them cough.

With a wave of her hand, Jaesa manages to use the force to clear the air around them.

The person forces themself up off the ground, towering over the three of them at full height, hefting a huge blaster cannon out of the rubble. It’s a Rattataki woman dressed from head to toe in the best durasteel armor there is, pale violet skin and dark tattoos slashing across her bald head. She spits out a mouthful of blood.

“What the…” Her eyes scan over Jaesa, Vette, and then stop on Emmerage, “ _Sith_. Here for the imps, huh?”

Jaesa reacts first, throwing herself over Vette. They hit the ground painfully, rocks digging into Vette’s ribs. And above them, the Rattataki woman opens fire.

Craning her neck to look at Emmerage, Vette sees him skid backwards, his red lightsaber blurring as he deflects the bolts. Now that she thinks about it - she’s seen the symbol painted on the strange woman’s armor before. Seen in a thousand times in propaganda videos that she likes to joke about on the holonet. _Havoc Squad_.

Pierce is _so_ fucked. _They’re_ fucked.

Speaking of Pierce, the man himself jumps over the ruined wall, blaster rifle jammed against his shoulder. He lays down cover fire while Vette and Jaesa get to their feet.

The woman rolls backwards. She slams down a small device that puts up a shimmering deflection field. Ducking behind the shield for cover, she rolls a handful of small bombs towards their group.

Vette scrambles away while Jaesa and Emmerage step forward, throwing the bombs to the side in tandem.

The rest of the outside wall goes down in the blast. To protect them, Jaesa pulls a huge slab of duracrete up in front of them. It’s quickly under fire from the Rattataki, but it holds. For now, at least. Jaesa drops to one knee in the dust, keeping both her hands up to hold the makeshift wall in place.

“Good of you to come,” Pierce says, quickly slamming a new ammo pack into his rifle, “That’s Major Ishzir of Havoc. Arlos and Tanido are back in the server room, Tanido’s injured and Arlos is keeping the Bastion’s defenses down.” He jerks his thumb at Emmerage, “Who the fuck is this guy? We just recruiting random sith now?”

Vette does the same, reloading her blasters and checking her kit to make sure she still has all her nice toys. “This is Em -”

“ _Emmerage_ ,” the man in question hisses.

“-and he’s our new friend. He’s one of Jaesa’s pals.”

Piece looks the guys up and down and then nods, “Alright. Listen, we’ve got a problem. Havoc is comprised of six members, and we’ve only run into the one. I got no clue where the other five are - could be she’s funneling us into a trap. Can’t tell, but either way, we need to take her out as fast as possible.”

The wall defending them blows up.

Hunks of duracrete go flying. Vette pulls her knees up to her chest and covers her head with her arms, wincing with pain as bits of rock smash into her. She catches sight of Emmerage using his lightsaber to defend himself. Stars, this… Major Ishzir lady is _not_ messing around. It’s been awhile since Vette’s been in a firefight like this, and never up against someone who’s such a seasoned fighter. At least they’ve got two sith on their side.

When the explosion dies off, Vette lowers her arms, reaching for her blasters and -

“JAESA!”

No, no, _no_ \- Jaesa’s lying on the ground, unconscious, blood leaking from a cut on her forehead. Head wound - that’s bad - shit, Vette’s no medic.

Pierce and Emmerage handle the Rattataki while Vette gently pulls Jaesa behind a pile of rubble. She checks her love’s pulse repeatedly, assuring herself that Jaesa’s alive. All she has on her is a couple kolto patches, but she applies those to the wounds she can see anyways. If they can’t deal with this quickly, Jaesa might - no, she’ll be fine. They’ve all been through worse. Jaesa will live.

Jaesa _has_ to live.

Vette runs towards the Rattataki, unloading both her blasters on the woman. Damn her to krething hells for hurting Jaesa.

Something invisible slams her into the ground. Just in time, as a burst of bolts scatters over her head. She gives Emmerage a thumbs up in thanks before sliding a new set of ammo packs into her blasters and getting to her feet. If she keeps moving, it’ll be harder for Ishzir to hit her.

Pierce goes left - she goes right. Emmerage runs straight forward, rushing the Major.

Their new sith friend swings his blade at the Rattataki with abandon as he draws her fire. She’s good - Vette’ll give her that. She keeps dodging, surprisingly quickly for someone as big as she is. Vette and Pierce keep firing at her from a distance, but they can’t get a good shot at her. Vette moves closer, trying to mentally run through what she has on her, what she could use to take down this woman.

Emmerage slashes at Ishzir - she ducks - Vette shoots - she brings an armored forearm up to block - slams the back end of her blaster cannon into Emmerage’s stomach - moves to engage Pierce -

Vette’s not sure they can win this one. Not without Jaesa.

When she moves in to peg Ishzir with a bolt to the brain, Ishzir grabs her wrist and yanks down, sending the shot into the ground. The blaster cannon sprays bolts at Emmerage, grazing him as he’s downed from the blow to his gut. Holy fu - is the woman shooting that thing one handed? How strong _is_ she? Pierce stands in front of the downed Emmerage, carefully aiming and firing at Ishzir.

“Ah - stop!” Vette yells as Ishzir throws her in front of Pierce.

He immediately yanks his rifle up, kneeling down to catch her before she hits the ground. Ugh, her ribs are killing her from all this being tossed around. It doesn’t matter - she has to get Ishzir. For Jaesa.

Emmerage gets to his feet and takes point again, buying a moment for Vette to grin and bear the pain.

She stands up and brushes herself off, “Surround her?”

“Yup.”

Vette runs off to the side, ducking behind the deflection field that the Major had dropped earlier. The shield is low on power, but it’ll hold. A few more minutes is all Vette needs. She scoops the generator up and attaches it to her vambrace. Stealing the enemy’s tech for her own purposes is always a fun little bonus.

At least the three of them are more in sync now. Emmerage gets up in Ishzir’s face and draws her fire, throwing lightning in short bursts at her whenever she tries to deal with Vette or Pierce - and when she does, Pierce can just take the hits and Vette’s got her nifty shield.

Slowly, they push Ishzir back.

That’s not enough - they need to _take her down_. No one hurts Jaesa and gets away with it. Holding her shield in front of her head, Vette rolls forward, aims, and gets a shot in between the plates of Ishzir’s armor.

With a shocked gasp, Ishzir stumbles, almost falling to one knee before getting back up and laying down heavy fire on all three of them, turning her blaster cannon so that they’re all pinned down. Vette curls up behind the shield, spotting the blood leak from behind Ishzir’s durasteel thigh guards.

Wind sweeps through the wreck of the Bastion as a BT-7 Thunderclap descends onto the battlefield.

It raises its lower wing enough to let the gangplank drop down right behind Ishzir. Damn it - no! Vette won’t let her get away. Ishzir smirks triumphantly, backing up onto her ship. She pointedly checks her chrono, “Well, that’s all the time I have. I could probably fight you three to a standstill, but we’ve just won this fight. We outnumber the Empire’s forces, you morons. And as for your leadership? Well.”

Pierce swears, pointlessly shooting at her as she lets the bolt pass over her head. “Where the fuck is the rest of Havoc?”

She keeps her blaster cannon aimed carefully at them, but nods her head towards the Empire’s side.

Vette doesn’t want to take her eyes off the woman. She slowly shifts her gaze to the set of buildings in the distance. That’s where the Empire must be keeping it’s -

A giant fireball engulfs the building.

Two seconds later, the explosion deafens Vette’s ears and the whole complex is just a heap of rubble, collapsing and disappearing behind the other spacescrapers. It comes crashing down easily.

The Thunderclap is closing it’s ramp-

“Don’t you fucking _dare_!” Pierce shouts, running straight towards Ishzir, Vette hot on his heels, and Emmerage not far behind.

They are not fucking losing this fight. Vette grabs onto a support beam and hauls herself onto the gangplank, shooting Ishzir with one arm wrapped around the durasteel. On the other side, Pierce tries to slam the butt of his rifle into her head.

Ishzir ducks and rolls forward, coming up just in time to step to the side as Emmerage lunges forward, the red light from his blade cutting through the air. When she moves to dodge Vette’s blasters, there’s a long thin burn mark on her cheek. This isn’t over yet. Ishzir uses one hand to fire her cannon at Emmerage, and the other to reach into the straps across her chest and draw a short vibroknife.

The knife slashes an inch from Vette’s skin, forcing her to slide under Ishzir’s outstretched arm and almost sending her crashing into Pierce. He moves just in time, coming around behind Iszhir to fire at her unprotected back.

Most of the shots just get brushed off by her armor, but not all of them. She stumbles again and there’s another patch of red blooming on her right arm.

“Fuck this.” Blood dribbles out through her lip ring. “Forex!”

Vette rushes her before whoever the hell this _Forex_ is can get to them. Her bolts hit empty air and then Ishzir’s crouching down, sweeping her blaster cannon across the ground, slamming it into Emmerage’s legs and sending him crashing to the ground outside the ship. Damn it - Vette is really starting to like Emmerage. Can’t this woman just _stop_ hurting the people that Vette likes?

The next set of bolts she and Pierce unleash _ping_ uselessly off of a giant metal arm that comes out of nowhere to cover Ishzir.

A battle droid!

Ishzir crouches between the hulking metal spider-legs of the droid, running through countless ammo clips as she fires at them. Reinforcing that are heavy grade shots from the droid’s mounted cannons.

The shield that Vette ducks behind flickers - once - twice - then it goes out and Pierce throws himself at her, knocking them both to the ground in order to save their damn lives. A massive shift underneath them sends them rolling off the gangplank and into the dirt. The Thunderclap is taking off.

Ishzir heaves her cannon onto her back and Vette can see a triumphant smirk on the woman’s face as the ramp closes, sweeping her into safety.

The ship streaks off into the sky as Vette watches, wanting to get one last shot at that woman.

There isn’t time for that though, the Republic is retreating. Vette peels herself out of Pierce’s arms and rushes back to Jaesa’s side, her heart pounding with worry. Jaesa’s eyelids flicker as Vette skids into the ground next to her.

“V...Vette?” Jaesa mutters, her voice groggy and her eyes unfocused.

“Yeah. It’s me, babe. I’ve got you. You’re gonna be fine.” She glances over to Pierce and Emmerage, “Pierce - get me a medic.”

He just - he’s just standing there, staring at where the Imperial base used to be. “Shit,” he mutters.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him, “I’m sorry you lost whatever general was there - Rakton - but I need you to call a medic right now. Jaesa needs help, and you can go over there later - there’s nothing that can be done for whoever was in that building.”

“Shit,” he says again, “I know.” He points at Emmerage, “You have Imperial channel access, right? Call a medic.” Emmerage gets on that as Pierce lifts his tactical comm to speak into it, his voice almost frantic as he calls out, “This is Pierce - Lorant, are you there? Can you hear me? Damn it, if you’re still alive-”

 _“I’m okay_ ,” a woman’s voice says back, breathlessly, “ _I saw. I had to double back a bit to avoid a squad of pubs - thank the force I did_.”

Pierce sighs in relief, “You okay?”

“ _Fine. I’ll… head back to the Bastion. Fighting’s over, right?_ ”

“Yeah. Republic started to fall back as soon as Command blew up. The last of them will be gone in a moment.”

“ _I’ll be there in maybe five minutes, if I run... And the rest of the team_?”

“Tanido’s a bit banged up, Arlos is fine. I’m fine. Got a bit of sith backup.”

“ _Don’t you always_?”

It’s going to be fine. Jaesa weakly squeezes Vette’s hand - she’s going to be fine. They made it through another storm.

~*~

Foris spoke too soon.

Lorant’s with them now, battered, bruised, and silent. Arlos is sitting at the base of a stack of servers, his legs tucked up to his chest.

And Tanido’s -

Dead. On the floor.

The pool of blood suggests that he bled out but neither of them have worked up the guts to ask Arlos for details.

“It’s an honor to die for the Empire,” Lorant finally mutters, vicious and bitter, “Any of us would have done the same. Our lives for the sake of the mission, for the glory of the Empire. We knew this when we signed up.”

“Yeah,” Foris replies. He just didn’t think it would be Tanido. Honestly he figured it’d be _himself_ to step through death’s doors, what with all the stupid risks he takes. Taking on Ishzir by himself, leading the Major away from the rest of his squad, what’s the point of that if he didn’t even manage to keep his squad safe. He doesn’t want himself to die, but he was the one in charge of this mission. His job was to keep his team alive.

Arlos is still shaking, he hasn’t said a word since they got here. Foris supposes he was always closest to Tanido, more than the rest of them. Shit. Foris should recommend the kid for a psych eval once they get back to Dromund Kaas.

“Does he have his id tags?” Foris asks.

Lorant leans down to check, as Arlos isn’t moving. “Yeah. I’ll… I’ll flag his body for a retrieval team. He has two older sisters, they should… shit, I don’t know anything about them. I didn’t fucking ask.”

“I know who they are. He and his family were from Ziost. Not that I knew much about them either.” Foris met them, just once. When he recruited Tanido for black ops, he’d met them. Their address will be in the system and he can find out where Tanido’s sisters are being deployed. That had been one of the things he and Tanido had in common. They both grew up in the same sector of Ziost. “We can take him back there. Give him a proper funeral. That’s all we can do for him now.”

Lorant nods. She leans down to place an arm around Arlos. “Get back to your crew, I’ll wait for the retrieval team to get here.”

“Right.”

This is fine, Foris thinks as he picks his way through the wreck of the Bastion. They’ve all known this would happen. It’s as Lorant said, any of them would have given their life for the Empire. They were all prepared for this eventuality. They’ve all done this for fellow soldiers before, just never for another member of black ops. Maybe they got cocky this time. Maybe that was what did in Tanido.

There are five strangers when he makes his way back to Vette, Jaesa, and their new sith buddy.

One’s a medic, that was expected. But there are four unknown sith, three of whom are guarding the area, and one who’s kneeling by the Jaesa’s side with the medic.

“I’ve given your brain a slight electric shock,” the strange Red Sith tells to a partially awake Jaesa, “It should speed up the recovery process a tad, but I recomend you don’t so much as touch the force for a few days. Boring, I know.”

“Who are you?” Foris asks, looking the weirdo up and down.

The Red Sith stands up and brushes off his elegant robes, “Ah, you must be the illustrious Lieutenant Pierce. I am Darth Vowrawn, Korribanil’s newest friend.”

A Dark Council member? Damn it, Foris hates it when things get political - and Hadra was _just_ blown up, if he takes the heat for that he’ll be losing his own head soon. “Right,” he says slowly, “If you’re here for the boss, we can’t help you. She isn’t here.”

“Shockingly, I _can_ see that,” Vowrawn replies, “I’ve been… less than successful at finding her myself and, as I’m sure you can imagine, it’s been a bit of a challenge to try and contact the nearest Imperial base for information. It shouldn’t be too difficult for you to put me in touch with her, yes?”

“Actually?” Vette snaps back, “It _would_ be difficult. Pierce wasn’t able to ring her on the holo earlier.”

Vowrawn seems, for some damn reason, cheered by this, “How exciting! The mystery deepens - it wasn’t just us struggling to locate her. We lost contact after she was supposed to join us for an adventure in the outskirts of Axial Park. Did she speak with any of you about our little tete-à-tete?”

Foris crosses his arms. “No. We didn’t know anything about that. She’s not stupid - she wouldn’t share sensitive intel.” He knows the boss can handle herself, and as much as he hates to admit it, Quinn does seem to be a decent back up for her. It still hurts to see such worry on Vette’s face. She thinks of the boss as her sister, they all know that, and Vette can really be a worrier.

“If it’s all the same to you,” Emmerage interjects, “I don’t know this… Korribanil? So her fate means little to me, personally. I’d prefer to just return to my students. I already survived one _very_ intense life or death situation today, and another just sounds unnecessary.”

Vette clears her throat at him, “It’ll be Gimrizh that can get you and your students pardoned, you know.”

“If it’s a pardon you’re after…” Vowrawn offers, a touch too sly for Foris to be sure of his sincerity.

“Em,” Vette advises, “Just stick around somewhere safe with Zirin. And don’t take this dude’s pardon. He seems crazy.” She pauses and shrugs at the Darth, “No offense.”

“None taken.”

Foris is reaching the end of his patience. It’s been a long day. He’s just lost - Well, it’s been a long day. He’s part of Gimrizh’s crew and he gives a damn about her and he’s not losing anyone else today. Darth Vowrawn can go and enjoy the damn ‘mystery’ of it later, after they get in touch with the boss. “Listen, not to be rude, but can you provide us with _any_ more info about where the boss might be?”

“Regrettably, no,” Vowrawn replies.

“So then…” Vette tightens her grip on Jaesa’s hand. “Where the hell is she?”

~*~

Everything aches.

Gimrizh’s eyelids feel heavy, her head pounds in time with her pulse. Her limbs are made of lead. It’s a familiar feeling. This reminds her exactly of how she hurt after waking up from her run in with poison on Hoth. It’s the same ache. The force is faint, distant, her connection to it tenuous. Even still it whirls away in her mind, waking her up.

Dim, blurry light blinds her when she manages to barely crack open her eyes. What… happened?

When her eyes adjust, it seems as though she’s in some sort of warehouse. It’s dark. She doesn’t know where she is. She can’t move her head and all noise seems muffled. She had… been with Malavai. On a rooftop. She can remember him kissing her, but after that is still foggy and unclear. They were supposed to be helping Vowrawn - did one of Baras’s assassins get to them?

She manages to tilt her head up enough to look around and - shit.

Draagh. He’s here. How did he -?

She tries to move away, fueled by a burst of adrenaline, but she can’t push herself up and her wrists are too heavy - cuffs. She’s wearing cuffs that faintly glow with a barrier field - _force suppressors_. Just like on Coruscant.

There’s someone else in the warehouse, almost out of her sight - it’s Malavai! He’s here, she’s going to be alright - fuck Draagh’s going to kill him - both of them. How the hell are they going to get out of this?

“M… Malavai,” she whispers, her voice dry and cracked, “Help, please… it’s Draagh, he’s here, we need to run…”

He’s not looking at her. Why isn’t he looking at her?

“Help me.”

“Huh,” Draagh remarks casually, without a care in the world. “You weren’t supposed to wake up.” He ignores her, turning to Malavai, “Was there a problem on your end?”

“No, my lord.”

What?

Draagh laughs, kneeling next to her so that she can see the smirk on his face, but she’s not looking at him - she’s looking at Malavai and he’s just - he’s just standing there. “Oh, yes, I imagine that’s a surprise for you. Me here to kill you? Hardly a shock. You probably expected that I’d show up eventually, but the _captain_ \- that’s my favorite part of all this. See, Captain Quinn has been a spy for Baras since the moment he joined your crew. And now he’s going to help me kill you.”

No.

No that’s a lie.

There’s no way that’s true, Malavai would never - he’s still not looking at her, damn it, why won’t he just turn and fucking look at her? He’s standing so far back, silent and distant, only a sliver of his face visible as he refuses to look at her or Draagh. If she could see his eyes she’d know for certain that this is just some plot of Draagh’s but she _can’t_ and every second of his silence eats away at her faith in him.

“Malavai please,” she begs, her eyes stinging wet as she keeps wishing for him to do something, anything. “Help me, _please_.”

She can see his shoulders shake but he’s still -

“Pathetic,” Draagh remarks. He barks out a short, sharp laugh and reaches down with one finger to point tauntingly at her mouth, “Who do you think poisoned you and brought you here?”

Malavai kissed her. He kissed her and then she - _no_.

No it can’t be true, it couldn’t have - he loves her, he’s said he loves her a thousand times - but if Draagh is telling the truth then - Then it was all a lie. Everything Malavai told her was a lie from the start, all to report back to Baras, to spy on her, to -

The ground collapses beneath her, blood pounding in her ears. She can’t breathe, she can’t _think_ \- He loves her but he’s not _helping_. Draagh is going to kill her and if he loves her why isn’t he doing anything, why is he just _standing there_ \- Force have mercy please don’t let it be true, let it be a plot of Baras, maybe Malavai has some plan up his sleeve, something to get them out, something she doesn’t know about -

He kissed her and he drugged her.

“Malavai _please_!”

Finally, _finally_ , he turns and she can see his face and he’s just - his eyes are shards of ice. It’s that same cold, that distance, only now it’s sharp and cruel. He’s not doing anything. He’s not going to stop Draagh. He’s going to let her die - he kissed her and poisoned her and told her he loved her and he’s _betrayed her_ -

Did he ever love her?

Pressure closes in around her throat. Draagh has his hand out, slowly choking her through the force. “I’m glad I got to see that despair on your face before I kill you.”

He drags her off the ground and into the air, her feet dangling, cuffed hands hanging at her sides - she should be fighting this - she should -

How could Malavai have loved her? How could she have been so stupid to think that someone like him would actually care for someone like her? Of course it was a plot, of course it was fake, it couldn’t have been real. And she fell for it. Every kiss, every touch, every word, she believed it all like the pathetic akk dog she is. And now he’s going to let someone else kill her because he doesn’t even give enough of a damn to do it himself - because she’s nothing, she never was. He never cared.

She trusted him.

She had told him secrets that she’d never told anyone, all the parts of herself that she hated, all the insidious thoughts in her head that she’d never given voice to. He’d been lying to her this whole time. All her barriers, all her walls, everything she had to keep herself safe, and she’d let it all down for him. She trusted him and loved him and _she would have died for him_ -

Draagh is about to kill her. She’s running out of air.

There’s nothing she can do, she’s cut off from the force, she’s unarmed, she has no idea where she is, she - Malavai planned this. He planned this trap for her, he knows her weaknesses inside and out, he picked her apart like she’s just another enemy -

Her world burns red.

~*~

Malavai hadn’t planned for this - he hadn’t planned on Draagh using force-suppressors and he hadn’t planned on Gimrizh simply… not fighting back. She’s not struggling as Draagh drags her into the air and chokes her, she’s… letting it happen, her body hanging limp in the air and her eyes glassy. He has no right to be this anguished by her pain.

Then she starts screaming.

It’s a strangled, raw noise, and she just - she just keeps screaming. With impossible strength and the shriek of metal, she rips her arms apart.

The link between the cuffs stands no chance, breaking under her force, the suppressor field flickers and dies. How? Malavai can’t understand how she had the brute strength to do that - but he’s grateful. If she can fight Draagh then she can win.

She’s going to live. She’s going to kill him.

And she hasn’t stopped screaming.

Draagh’s ability to keep her trapped fails and she drops to the floor with an earsplitting smash, cratering the ground beneath her feet as though a krayt dragon descended to shatter the earth. Fury wraps around her in a shroud of power and Malavai has never been more terrified to look upon her. Her voice changes pitch to a terrible roar. In the dim light, her gold eyes burn with rage.

The air pressurizes as if for a storm, lightning crackles around her, and then Gimrizh unleashes a blast of force energy the likes of which Malavai has never seen her do before.

He’s standing at least twenty feet away when the blast hits him, sending him crashing into the rack of crates behind him. Draagh had been standing closer - he’s thrown across the warehouse, an explosion of noise cracking through the air as he hits a boiler, filling the room with steam.

Something on the ground cuts Malavai’s hands and there’s blood on his gloves when he manages to push himself up. He still has his blaster but he knows better than to go after Gimrizh right now. She has to kill Draagh first. And frankly, it’s hard to force himself to move. Attacking her is breaking his heart and she is _terrifying_. Every instinct in his body is screaming at him to hide, to hope she doesn’t turn her gaze on him.

Her anger usually is cold, sharp, cutting. This is everything he’s not seen from her before, every bit of rage and thunder that she’s ever pushed down.

Electricity sparks around her body - she’s _never_ used lightning before, she’s never shown that force ability - And it’s clear she’s not doing it consciously, it’s a physical manifestation of her anger and it’s burning her too - She’s ripping herself apart, destroying her own body out of mindless fury. He wishes she didn’t care so _visibly_. Why couldn’t she be cruel, why couldn’t she simply hate him without shredding herself in the process?

There’s a crack like thunder. She flashes across the room, a bolt of energy careening towards Draagh, unstoppable.

“Alright!” Draagh yells, drawing his lightsaber. There’s blood on his lips - _good_ , Malavai thinks. “You want to die that badly?”

Gimrizh slams into him.

Shit, she’s unarmed, Draagh can simply keep his distance and slice her up if he fights smart, but Malavai can’t… he can’t bring himself to move. There’s nothing he can do to help her.

There’s the sound of his blade slashing as Draagh throws her off him, lunging forward and bringing his sword down upon her - she isn’t blocking, she isn’t dodging, what is she -

She catches it.

She just reaches out with her hand and catches the lightsaber blade and it doesn’t - it doesn’t cut her. Lightning and air twist around her arm, sparking and crackling and hissing with energy as she impossibly holds on the blade.

With a twist of her body, she rips the weapon from Draagh’s grip, throwing it to the ground and tackling him.

The two of them hit the ground, kicking and punching without skill or tactics. Gimrizh snarls and roars as she claws at her enemy. There’s another blast of force energy and then she’s got Draagh on his back, climbing on top of him.

She reaches out, ripping shards of metal from the nearby pipes with an invisible hand. A twitch of her wrist sends them slicing through Draagh. He screams as they hit, a bloodcurdling shriek of pain. Large spikes of metal spear his wrists and ankles, pinning him to the ground, stabbing through his torso, piercing his shoulders all the way through the bone.

He’s downed, but none of those injuries will kill him quickly - she starts punching him.

Screaming wordlessly at him, slamming her fist into his face over and over. Blood pools on the floor, splatters over her body as she just keeps hitting him. Malavai can hear the crack of bone, smell the iron of blood.

At some point Draagh’s cries turn to agonized moans and then to nothing at all.

Gimrizh keeps punching him.

She’s supposed to turn to Malavai now and she isn’t - oh stars. Of course this won’t be easy and he was foolish beyond belief to imagine that he could get away with simply standing still and waiting for her to kill him. He draws his blaster, his hands shaking as he does so. This is it. Time for him to die.

He’s ready. This is necessary. He made this plan now he has to follow through.

It’s strangely silent as he walks towards her, his footsteps echoing through the space. He thinks she must be able to hear his pounding heartbeat. Slowly, Gimrizh lowers her fist. She stands up over her dead foe, turning to stare at Malavai.

He’s almost calm as he raises his blaster. If he aims for somewhere non lethal - a graze on the arm perhaps - that’s all he needs to do. Show her that he’s trying to kill her. And then she’ll kill him out of self defense and she’ll live and Lucian will live and whether she’s a traitor or not Malavai will have died doing his duty and _that_ is bearable.

Energy screeches as she calls Draagh’s lightsaber to her hand, leaping towards him - good. She’s treating him as a bigger threat than Draagh. Perhaps Malavai’s own death will be swifter.

At least she’ll be the last thing he sees in this life. A privilege he doesn’t deserve.

He steps forward and fires.

~*~

Gimrizh sees red red _red_ as she cuts through the barrel of Malavai’s blaster, pain blooming in her shoulder as his bolt burns across her upper arm. It’s not lethal. How _sloppy_. She expected _better_ from him.

An acrid burning smell rots in her nose and Malavai falls to his knees, screaming.

Oh.

She missed.

The blade didn’t go through his blaster, it went through his _wrist_.

 _Good_.

If he wants to kill her then he doesn’t get to touch her ever again. He should _suffer_ as he has made her suffer. She’s crumbling and breaking apart and he should be too. At least he’s showing emotion now. At least she’s _affecting_ him. She’d cut him a thousand times just to see the pain twist his face. And he’d deserve it. If he wants to throw her love away then she will show him how much she _hates_.

With her free hand she reaches out through the force - and _oh_ it is _effortless_. She doesn’t even have to think about it, the dark side courses through her veins like fire, acting on her will before she even can articulate thought. It’s power pulses through her, ruining her, burning her, letting her lose herself in her anger. If she wants to - and she _does_ \- it will consume her entirely. That will be the first bit of mercy she’s been shown from it. Every burst of pain that it’s causing her will be repaid when she’s done. When she can just sink into the dark side and drown in it.

Malavai’s screams cut off as she closes her fist around emptiness.

Hurting him rips her apart even as the dark side whispers of the pleasure it brings. His veins and arteries pulse beneath her fingers, false heat and familiarity -

It scorches her. She recoils from the sensation, throwing him across the room and into the wall.

He crumples on the ground, gasping for breath, clutching the stump of his right hand to his chest. Without even trying she can feel his pain ripple through the force. Every bit of pain he caused her she’ll return in kind.

 _Kill him_ , the dark side whispers. _Kill him and then I can lie down and give up and don’t have to hurt anymore_ , Gimrizh thinks.

Again, she grabs his throat with the force, pressing him into the ground. She doesn’t enjoy the sound of his choked off attempts to draw breath but it’s what he deserves. It’s what _she_ deserves.

Malavai’s trying to fight it, trying to stop the press of darkness, but he can't - she won’t let him. She stares into his eyes. She has to see the light fade from them. If she is the one to kill him then she must bear witness.

Mind reading usually hurts her but now it is easy. As Malavai fades, as he starts to die, she reaches out and buries herself in his pain. He starts to lose consciousness, a few seconds more and he’ll be dead -

 _Good_.

That wasn’t her. That wasn’t her thought that was _his_.

With a gasp, she lets him go, his unconscious body lying there, tormenting her. Why would he be pleased that she’s killing him? Why would he want that? Maybe he knows that he deserves death, knows that what he did to her is only justified by his own passing. Maybe he’s glad that she made it quick.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t erase anything he’s done.

Kneeling next to him, she presses the hilt of Draagh’s lightsaber under his jaw, angled up into his brain. All she needs to do is turn it on for a second and he’ll be dead. She _wants_ him dead. The ultimate price for what he’s done to her. It’ll be simple. Easy. She can’t miss.

He planned this.

He planned every aspect, knew her every weakness, knew everything about her. And he was satisfied by the knowledge that she was going to kill him. It doesn’t make sense - unless he planned on her killing him. He _wants_ her to kill him.

That second of realization snaps her back. She’s not going to do what he wants and she’s not - she didn’t let herself think about it until now but she’s got someone else’s lightsaber pressed under the jaw of her closest love. Last time this happened she didn’t pull the trigger herself and that might have been the only thing that kept her going after Yaina’s death. There will be no such mercy this time. No barrier between her and the kill.

She _won’t_ do it.

Spite alone - for him and for herself - keeps Malavai alive.

~*~

“I’ll return to my ship - please do inform Korribanil when she finally turns up,” Vowrawn says. As with Emmerage, Vette can’t tell if she likes the guy or not. On one hand he’s weird as hells but he did help Jaesa. “Once I make contact with her we can return to Kaas City and introduce Baras to the long end of a lightsaber. I’ll even bring a holo recorder to capture the moment, and oh, a bottle of wine.”

If he’s offering… “Something from Alderaan,” Vette suggests, “They’ve got good shit.”

Vowrawn winks at her, “You read my mind.”

Maybe she does like him after all. Vowrawn’s three moody lil sith bodyguards troop off towards what’s basically an armoured speeder escort for some last minute checks. They’ve made their way to a neutral spaceport where the Darth was able to call up his security team and Zirin was able to land the _Torrent_ without too much hassle or side-eyeing from the port authorities. It’s better for Emmerage to take a shuttle to somewhere in Imp space from here, given that they still haven’t gotten a pardon for him.

“If I were you,” Vowrawn adds, with a touch less sarcasm than usual, “I’d try and leave Corellia in a rather swift manner. Now that the former Minister of War and poor General Rakton are out of the picture, the last bit of opposition towards abandoning Corellia has disappeared. We’ll be beginning to pull all forces from the planet within a month.”

“Yeah,” Pierce replies, “We heard.”

Uh, Vette did _not_ hear about that. “We did?”

“Black ops was informed.”

Right. Vette doesn’t ask more. She glances over at Jaesa out of habit, only to remember that Jaesa isn’t using the force right now and thus wouldn’t be able to give any information about how Pierce is feeling. Her girlfriend is standing on her own, but groggy. She was leaning on Vette during the harried speeder ride to the spaceport. Vette keeps telling herself that Jaesa will be okay.

“Well, have fun. Contact me if you need assistance looking for Korrbanil.” Vowrawn tosses the parting over his shoulder as he joins his security detail.

That’s that then. She supposes that the next time they’ll see him will be on Dromund Kaas. He better bring that wine, damn it. “Alright Em,” she says, turning to their newest sith buddy, “I got a message from Risha with their docking bay info - hangar X-54. Your students will be there, safe and sound, as promised. Go somewhere near- _ish_ Imp space, but like, not _that_ close. We’ll mail you that pardon from the boss once we find her.”

Emmerage gives the three of them a strange formal bow, “Thank you for your assistance. And thank _you_ , Miss Willsaam. I want to believe in the future Empire you are working towards.”

“I’m glad,” Jaesa replies, her voice just the slightest bit quieter and raspier than usual, “One day we’ll see the completion of that Empire. Someplace better for you and for your students. I hope to count you as a friend when that day comes.”

He sighs, clearly a little reluctant, but in the end he says, “You can count me as a friend _now_. My students seem to have a fondness for you and Vette as it is. Although I’m not sure what use a disgraced teacher and three acolytes will be… you have my help regardless. As soon as the pardon goes through, we’ll return to Korriban. We’ll be there if you need help.”

“Thank you,” Jaesa reaches out to shake his hand.

Emmerage takes it, a ghost of a smile on his face - and hey, he finally got rid of that depressing glower. It’s a miracle. “Until next time, Miss Willsaam.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Em,” Vette says, giving him a cheeky salute, “Tell your students that if they ever need an Aunt Vette -”

“No.”

“Aw, but I’d be _so_ good as an -”

“I repeat - no.”

“Spoilsport.”

“You and my students agree on that much, at least.” He bows to them again before heading out.

“May the force be with you.”

Once he disappears into the buzz of people milling around the spaceport, it’s just the three of them again. The empty space that Gimrizh and captain stuffy should fill only gets larger when there are fewer people around. Vette hopes they’re okay. They _should_ be - she knows how well they cover each other’s asses. Still, if there really were as many assassins after Vowrawn as the Darth claimed there were…

No, they’ll be fine. She needs to stop worrying over nothing.

“What now?” Pierce asks, “We don’t have a lead on the boss. I lost my only high up contact here when Rakton died. Our avenues to gain information are low.”

That is a very good question. “We… head back to _Horizon_? Maybe we’ll get lucky and they’ll be waiting there?”

~*~

Malavai wakes up.

This is an unexpected development. He thought… Shit. Gimrizh didn’t kill him. No! He _lost_. He’s lost Lucian, he’s lost whatever honor for his service to the Empire he had left, he’s lost everything. Oh stars no. Gimrizh is still alive - he’s still alive. He didn’t think he would have to deal with the aftermath of his betrayal. Seeing what he’s done to her is an unbearable thought at the moment. He’s a fucking _coward_.

Slowly he opens his eyes, a painful white light streaming through. He’s back on _Horizon_ , on one of the medbay’s beds. When he tries to move his limbs meet resistance. He’s strapped down. A reasonable precaution for Gimrizh to take. It’s not as though he can blame her.

Toovee silently moves above him, fixing something to his right hand - ah. Of course. Standard protocol for missing limbs is to save the nerve endings as soon as possible. It’s a procedure he’s watched before. There will be a metal casing fixed to the end of his wrist first, to connect the nerves to a future prosthetic. Fuck. He’s lost his hand as well. No less than he deserves, really. If this was about what he _deserves_ he would be missing a head as well.

He can see someone move behind Toovee - he doesn’t want to look.

Gimrizh comes to stand at the foot of the bed, deathly silent, her hands clasped behind her back. After a minute of just staring, she waves the droid off. Toovee’s gears whirr as he departs, abandoning the two of them.

He doesn’t deserve to look at her after what he’s done.

The worst is that Gimrizh still isn’t saying anything. She should be screaming at him. He wants - he _needs_ her to hate him for what he’s done. This silence hurts more than her loud anger.

“My lord, I-”

“Shut up,” she snarls. “Have the guts to call me by my name when you try to stab me in the back.”

After what he’s done, he shouldn’t use her name. “To be frank, I presumed I’d lost that right after…”

That doesn’t seem the right thing to say, “After what? After spending the past two years _spying_ on me? Reporting everything I ever told you back to Baras? Perhaps you meant to say after siding with Draagh and plotting my murder at his hands? Or do you mean after _drugging me with a force-damned kiss_?

“Was it _fun_?” She demands, spitting venom at him with every word, “Fucking the alien bitch? Getting her to love you? Did you have a good laugh about that with Baras? Or, no let me guess, did he _order_ you to do that? Baras is the one with a sick sense of humor - but you’re enough of a bastard that you’d just do as he told you without a second thought. You’re a good fucking actor, I’ll give you that. You actually had me convinced that you loved me. Well done, I _fucking fell for it_!”

He was wrong - it’s so much worse now that she’s screaming at him. Her voice is so raw and broken. There’s hot anger, to be sure, but bitterness too. When he looks at the cold in her eyes he can see splotchy, pained red.

“Why did you let me live?” he asks, almost unable to even speak in the face of her hatred. But if there’s a chance she’ll still kill him… “Like you said… it was fun. I -” Every word is so false that it seems as though someone else is speaking through his lips, “I used you. I spied on you. And you never noticed.”

“I said _shut up_!” She jabs her finger at him, “You are alive because you _want_ me to kill you and I _refuse_ to make one more move that’s according to your _krething plans_! Now you are going to tell me the truth! I will know if you are lying and while I won’t kill you I can do worse - I’ll break every bone in your body, slowly snapping them with the force - I’ll burn your skin to ash and pour salt in the crevices - _I’ll send you back to Baras_! Alive, and all gift wrapped for him. We know what he does to failed spies and he’s _far_ better at torture than I.”

It’s a just punishment. He did want her to abandon her mercy, he had only hoped that she would have done so sooner. But if she sends him back to Baras - Lucian may very well die. “Please, my lo - Gimrizh. Please kill me.”

“No. If you wanted to avoid the consequences of your actions then you should have thought about before selling me out to Baras. If you tell me the truth then perhaps I _will_ kill you.” She’s shaking with anger as she orders, “You were spying on me from the beginning - yes, or no?”

“Yes - Baras ordered I join your crew and report back to him. Gimrizh please, there’s no time for this -” If he’s alive, Lucian’s life is at stake.

She clenches her fist and something shatters in the cabinets. “There is enough time for you to answer my questions. I’ve put some of the pieces together but I don’t fully understand and you are going to fill in the blanks for me. The poison you used on me. It was exactly the same thing I was exposed to on Hoth - and I distinctly recall informing you that I could use the force to counteract poisons _only_ if I had prior exposure. You’re not stupid enough to forget a detail like that which makes me think you wanted me to wake up. Why? No honor in Draagh killing me in my sleep, or did you want to see me cry when I realized you betrayed me?”

“... The former,” he admits. “My - my _plan_ needed you awake.”

His only choice now is to tell her everything. While he knows it won’t effect how she sees him, she did seem fond of Lucian. Perhaps she’ll kill him out of mercy for his brother.

“Why?”

“You had to kill Draagh. You had to live.”

“That isn’t a reason. You had no complaints against betraying me - why not kill me?

“Because I could not bear to see you die.” The words choke him more than she ever did and something inside him crumbles. “... I love - ”

She cuts him off, angry tears in her eyes as she glares viciously at him. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. You don’t love me. You never did. If you had loved me then you wouldn’t have spent almost two years feeding him my every secret.”

“I didn’t.”

“I told you not to lie to me!”

“I…” Fuck, he never thought he’d have to tell her this. Every single plan he had has collapsed around him and all that’s left is the truth that he’s never wanted to hurt her with. “I stopped sending information to Baras well over six months ago. I never sent him a report after the Maelstrom Prison incident and then I stopped entirely. He never found out about Jaesa either - or about Vette’s friends on Hoth.”

She turns away from him, clenching her fists so hard her knuckles turn white. “Stop. Just… stop. Why did you… why did you betray me, then?”

Because he didn’t have a choice? No, he did. He chose to betray her from the moment he saw evidence of her own treason. “Baras sent me a dossier while you were recovering after Hoth. It was quite… _thorough_. Your conspiracy with Quorian Dorjis at the expense of the Empire, your indifference at Yaina’s treason, your willingness to save Jedi - you betrayed the Empire. I swore an oath to protect it.”

“And working with Baras was necessary for that then?” She’d flinched at the mention of Yaina, but she’s still seething. If she hates him for the rest of his life it won’t be long enough. “You couldn’t have fucking talked to me about this?”

“This wasn’t about me. If I had failed to work with Draagh - Baras didn’t need to threaten me outright.” No, Baras never needed to state his threats explicitly. Malavai could read through the lines well enough. “After the first call with Baras I received a message from Lucian. He’s on Dromund Kaas, or orbiting the planet. Even if we had left right away, even if I had told you from the start - Baras would have gotten to my brother first.”

She swears again. “So why kill yourself at my hands then?”

Slowly, every word a knife to his heart, he explains his decision. “Baras told me to either kill you or die trying. If I survived… Baras has no hesitation when it comes to killing innocent people. If I don’t die, Lucian will for my mistakes.” He looks her full in the face. “Now _please_ , kill me.” He’ll beg if that’s what she wants.

“No,” she repeats. “I won’t punish your brother for your actions and I won’t kill you - you don’t get what you want - you get to live with this. But I…” she hesitates, shifting from one foot to the other, “I have a way to get Lucian to safety.”

That’s impossible. Ovech is the only man they have inside the Empire and he can’t fight off any sith that Baras will send. “How?”

“Quorian Dorjis - actually. I never told you - in fact I hid it from you all this time - I kept contact with an old overseer of mine named Tremel whom Baras conveniently believes to be dead. He and Dorjis are nearby Dromund Kaas.” She almost laughs, but it comes out as something more closely resembling a sob, “I hope you’re enjoying this. My treason might just save your brother’s life.”

Shit. What has he _done_? If he’d _known_ \- no, if he’d only _talked_ to her -

“Message Lucian,” she orders, “Tell him to keep safe. I’ll contact Dorjis and Tremel. Don’t mention anything about this to the crew.” She pauses and glances back at him, a deep sadness welling in her eyes that until now had been mostly concealed by her rage. “One last thing. Why did you - You could have poisoned me in a number of ways. Why did you have to _kiss me_?”

A stupid, failed attempt at suicide. “As I said, I needed you to kill me.”

“So what, you wanted me to hate you? Well,” she says bitterly, stalking out of the medbay, “Congratulations, you managed to achieve _that_ , at least.”

~*~

Jaesa still can’t quite tap into the force without a searing headache, and she has to lean against Vette as they walk up _Horizon_ ’s gangplank. Even though she can’t reach out for information, or use her abilities, she remains connected to the force. It’s easy for her to sense the disturbance when she takes her first steps on the durasteel hull. Something has gone horribly wrong and she can’t get a better read than that - it’s so frustrating not being able to use the force.

“Damn...” Vette’s jaw flaps open as they enter the communications room and see the captain leaning over the large floor holo.

“Oh my,” Jaesa gasps, “Captain Quinn, are you alright?”

The man in question looks a complete wreck, uniform rumpled and bloodstained, heavy dark circles under his eyes, numerous scrapes on his cheeks and a nasty looking bruise blooming under his collar. His left hand tightly grips a data stick, his usual gloves absent and replaced by a heavy kolto wrap.

“Ah - you’ve returned,” he says, glancing up from whatever he’s pouring over on the holo terminal. His voice sounds like he shouldn’t have been let out of the medbay, let alone standing on his feet.

“Fuck. We just fought off Havoc Squad and you look worse off than us. You got in a brawl with a tukata?” Pierce asks, raising an eyebrow.

Normally that’d start an argument. Instead, Quinn just looks away, such an aura of defeat about him and something else - Jaesa winces as the force makes her head pound. She can’t get a read on the captain right now. “Unfortunately, no,” he replies.

“You look like a jolt into hyperspace would knock you off your feet,” Vette jokes, her voice almost mothering. “Did you break out of the medbay?”

His attempt at a scathing retort just comes out as a tired sigh. “I assure you, I did not.”

Vette rolls her eyes at him. “You totally broke out of the medbay. You’re the medic, you’re supposed to know better. Not to mention that Toovee’s circuits will wear down if he’s stuck on med duty for too long. Come on dude, get your ass seated.”

She swings her arm over his shoulder as though she’s going to drag him back herself and Quinn instantly shoves her away on reflex.

“What the…” Vette goes pale and Jaesa doesn’t need the force to see the shock and concern on her love’s face. “Fuck. Oh _fuck_.”

Where Quinn’s right hand should be is nothing more than a metal casing fitted around his wrist - a set for a prosthetic. She can’t see much before he yanks his arm away, but it’s enough. The skin around the case is wrapped in kolto only an inch past the metal. An injury like that, healed over fast enough for there to already be a casing in place? It was caused by a lightsaber. Whoever Quinn and her master ran into was a force user.

“What _happened_?” she asks.

He glares at his lost hand, “I miscalculated.”

“Shit,” Vette swears a few more times for good measure, “Are you getting a replacement?”

At that question he blinks in confusion, as though he hadn’t even thought of the idea. “The ship has replacements in stock - droid parts mostly, but they can easily be modified. I suppose one of those will be sufficient.”

“Or you could fucking get an _actual_ prosthetic,” Vette adds, “We are still in an Imperial spaceport - I’m sure the boss would let us wait an hour or something while one of us runs out and buys something.”

Jaesa frowns at the twisted expression that flashes across the captain’s face. “No, that won’t be necessary,” he quickly replies, “We are pressed for time after all.”

“Not _that_ pressed.” Vette retorts, looking around, “Hold on, let me go show you how shitty the replacement droid parts are. I’m sure your snobby sensibilities will show their face once you see them. Hey, actually… where _is_ Toovee? He’s usually futzing with the exhaust ports when we dock.”

“Gone.”

Jaesa turns to see her master standing behind them, lingering by the exit. Although her master never looks put together, not really, this is… She’s not visibly banged up like the captain, but Gimrizh hasn’t ever looked so wrecked before. Her bloodshot eyes glare around the communication’s room. “I wiped Toovee’s memory and sold him. Anything else you need to know about him, or my mission on Corellia, is classified and I will not tolerate questions. Am I understood?”

“Sure, but…” Vette trails off. She gestures vaguely before adding, “Shit, Gimrizh, Quinn lost a hand, you look _awful_ , you _wiped and_ _sold_ Toovee? Hold on, you went _shopping_ and didn’t bring back a hand for Quinn? What the hells -”

“I believe I said I will not tolerate questions,” Gimrizh snaps. Jaesa can’t remember seeing her be so rude to Vette before. “We’re returning to Kaas City with a short detour once we enter the Dromund system. I will contact Vowrawn and then I’ll fucking cut Baras’s head off myself. Vette, Pierce, get us into hyperspace.”

Pierce frowns, “No offense, but I haven’t flown this ship before.”

Her master flares up in anger, “You’ll do as I say. Alert me when we arrive and not a moment earlier.”

The four of them keep their distance as she stalks across the room into her quarters, slamming the door behind her.

“Seriously,” Vette asks, staring at the shut door, “What the hell happened?”

Jaesa doesn’t need the force to hear the pain in Quinn’s voice as he replies, “As Lord Gimrizh said… it’s classified.”

~*~

Baras flicks his hand at a stack of datapads, sending them crashing to the floor. Damn it. He sensed the moment Draagh died and he still hasn’t received confirmation of Gimrizh’s death to make up for it. He knows full well that she’s too much of a threat for him to face in single combat - the route she will undoubtedly take if she has Vowrawn’s support.

A holo buzzes from the mess on the floor.

With a burst of the force, he calls the device to his hand and lets the call connect. The blue figure flickers into being, his spy kneeling before him. Finally, some news.

“Master,” his spy begins, “I have received information regarding Captain Malavai Quinn.”

Ah yes, Baras’s most tenuous and potentially valuable chess piece in all this. He’s been waiting for news of the man’s death ever since he felt Draagh die. “Go on, don’t keep me waiting.”

“The captain is alive. He just sent a message to Lucian Quinn - instructing him to remain where he is and to keep safe. From what I could gather, Lucian seems to believe that his brother, along with Gimrizh Korribanil’s crew, are flying to the Dromund system as we speak.”

Krething hells - so the captain decided to betray Baras after all.

“Very well,” he bites out, thinking of which agents of his to recall. He’s always had his plans for using Lucian against the captain, or using him against Gimrizh in the case that she had survived alone. “Return to your post and await my orders. Be prepared to contain or delay the target if necessary until my agents arrive.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He throws the holo across the room and into an antique holocron shelf. He’s down to the last asset he has but it’ll be enough to stop his former apprentice. When she comes for him, he refuses to roll over and die for her.

~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment below? I survive off of feedback  
> or come yell at me at tumblr, my handle is @semper-draca


	30. Bohemian Rhapsody

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooooly shit yall. 400K WORDS OMG.  
> As always, shoutout to mah fab beta Riajade01, and shoutout to tumblr's @fluffynexu who's worldbuilding I borrowed for 'demon fish'. Seriously, demon fish, how cool is that? Also, I should probably stop titling chapters after Queen songs but eh  
> This chapter, aka: I'm using up all my best puns too quickly, Vowrawn and Vardri need to write shitposts together, and Gimrizh and Quinn find themselves at a loss regarding where to go from here.

Quorian hasn’t worn his armor in a long time. It still fits, the thin chest plate slides between his robes like he never took it off. He never would have guessed that his first time fighting since being captured on Korriban would involve saving an Imperial, although he’s happy to do so. Gimrizh has always seemed to have good judgment and to be frank, Quorian has come to like quite a lot of the Empire.

Not enough to switch sides, but enough.  “Dear, where’s my lightsaber?”

“You left it in the supply crate.” Tremel tosses him the weapon. “Stop taking so long to get geared up.”

“Sorry, I forgot where all the straps for this shoulder guard attach. I haven’t worn durasteel in years, and there are a number of more fiddly bits. Jedi standard issue plate armor is always so _fussy_.”

Tremel slides into the pilot’s seat and powers up the engine. He’d managed to contact an old friend of his - they don’t always tell each other what contacts they have, it’s safer that way. That connection got them an Imperial shuttle and a set of up-to-date authorization codes. Enough for one trip to dock at _SD Vanguard_ where they’ll find a young man named Lucian Quinn - the Imperial pilot that Gimrizh requested they save. Quorian wonders what sort of danger the man is in. It involves Baras, to be sure, but Gimrizh didn’t give them more details than that.

When Tremel doesn’t say anything in response - passing up a clear opportunity to insult the Jedi, at that - Quorian lays a hand on his shoulder, “The end for Baras nears. We know it does. You’ll be able to see her again soon.”

“I’m aware,” Tremel replies, sighing, “It’s been two years without contact. No doubt Eskella despises me by now.”

“I’m sure that given a proper explanation, she will forgive you. It isn't as though you had much of a choice.”

“Knowing Eskella, she might have prefered that I died instead of turning away from the Sith.”

“You need to be more optimistic about this.”

“I’ll be optimistic when I’m dead.” Tremel grabs the front of Quorian’s shirt and yanks him down, kissing him like he’s trying to win an argument. “Let’s go save some stupid pilot.”

“Now now, don’t be rude about this.”

~*~

It’s been two days in hyperspace since they left Corellia. After Gimrizh vanished into her quarters, they haven’t seen her since. Vette claims that she saw her briefly ghost in and out of the kitchen in the early hours of the morning last night. On the other hand, the captain has been working almost constantly, spending almost all of his time on the bridge. It’s a really stupid move for someone who should really be in medbay for at least two weeks. Jaesa’s still convalescing, so it’s down to Foris and Vette to speculate over cups of morning caff.

Vette’s perched on the stool across from him, her hands wrapped around a large mug, “It was a force user they were fighting - Jaesa said so.”

“Well yeah, who else could get through the boss to hurt the captain that bad. Wasn’t some regular pub.”

“Maybe a Jedi? Gimrizh is _pissed_ and we all know how much she already hates the Jedi.”

Foris drops another cube of sugar into his caff, stirring it with his finger, “I dunno. This is a different pissed off than usual. And she wasn’t that injured herself, I _think_ I saw a blaster burn on her shoulder but that’s been it. If they got in a fight with a Jedi, I’d think she’d be worse off - or the captain wouldn’t have lost a hand to begin with.”

“Could be that they were separated?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I wanna know why we’re making some sort of detour before we land in Kaas City. She didn’t say anything about what specifically we’re doing and it’s not like we have coordinates for a rendezvous site.”

“Maybe she’s meeting up with Darth Vowrawn before landing?”

“I _guess_.” Vette stares mournfully into her cup, “I hope she and the captain will be okay. It almost seems like they had a fight - they haven’t spoken to each other since we left.”

That’s actually a promising idea. “Maybe,” Foris gets up, drains his caf, and throws the mug into the sink, “I’m going to head out. Get to work.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Vette warns, almost as if she knows what he’s about to do.

He laughs, “Me? Stupid? I can handle myself, kid.”

Of course he’s about to do something stupid, but if he’s right, it might be the only time that Gimrizh will actually listen to him. He strolls through the ship, making sure he can hear where everyone else is so that one of them won’t stop him. Jaesa should still be in the medbay, and yeah, he can see that the lights are turned on through a crack in the doorway. There’s the faint sound of a computer terminal whirring away when he pauses by the bridge, so that’s the captain taken care of.

That done, he knocks lightly on Gimrizh’s door.

After a tense moment where he thinks she might just ignore him, the door slides open to let him in and then shuts behind him once he’s taken a step inside.

Gimrizh is hunched over her desk, a hydrospanner in her hand as she tweaks with wires and a lightsaber case. She doesn’t look up as he enters. “We haven’t arrived on Dromund Kaas and we haven’t received any transmissions - so you must have a very good reason for disturbing me.”

“I uh,” Foris collects his thoughts and continues, “I wanted to talk to you about something important. And this might be the only time you’ll actually hear me out. It’s got to do with Captain Quinn, and given that you two don’t seem to be talking right now, I figure you might listen to what I have to say.”

She puts the hyrdrospanner down and turns her chair around. Yikes, she looks like she hasn’t slept since leaving Corellia. Her dark circles have dark circles. “What?” she demands.

“I think he’s up to something. I don’t have any proof, but I’ve been looking into it since I arrived on the crew. Found a bunch of his coded records and then they were suspiciously deleted right after Baras betrayed you.” Foris shrugs, “Didn’t seem like a coincidence to me. Seemed like the timing was too on point for it to just be random. He got cagey when I confronted him about it too, although like I said, he didn’t admit anything. I’d like it if you gave me permission to investigate more.”

Her choked out laugh quickly turns into a sob before she cuts herself off. “You’ve had these suspicions this whole time?”

“Yeah, pretty much. Thought you’d just brush me off before now.”

“I see.”

“... So do I have permission?”

“Next time you have a hunch like that, tell me from the start,” She angrily flicks her hand and the door opens, “Now get the _fuck out_ and _never_ mention this to me again. I don’t want to so much as see you before we land. Do _not_ test me right now, Lieutenant.”

The door almost cuts his nose off as she slams it shut. He guesses that’s a ‘no’ for permission, but if anything he’s more confused about his hunch than he was before.

~*~

Lucian longingly sits in the shadow of his old fighter, trying to go through some stupid datapad about a series of stupid meetings that Ovech needs to attend. Just another week till Ovech’s official promotion and they’ll be back into the action. Stars, he can’t wait. At least they’re back on _Vanguard_ right now, but the rest of his old squad is deployed on the front.

All this mysterious bullshit had better blown over soon or he’ll forget how to fly by the time he’s finally back in the sky.

Footsteps echo through the otherwise empty hangar back as Ille strolls over and plops down next to him. “Interesting reading?”

“Oh shush, you know it isn’t,” Lucian replies, tossing the datapad over his shoulder in annoyance. It’ll be fine, whatever material standard issue datapads are made of, it’s durable as fuck. “Anything interesting? Has Ovech finally done all the stupid singing of paperwork, the transferring of regional governor-ship official dances-?”

“Those aren’t a thing. And regardless, Major Ovech is currently in a meeting.”

Really? Damn, Lucian should have paid more attention to the schedule that he was totally supposed to be reading. “Ugh. Just a few more days, you know? But it feels like forever, and even after Ovech is a Moff, I don’t know how long I’ll be stuck working this stupid secretary thing.” It all depends on whatever secret bullshit his brother is up to. And Malavai keeps saying that _Lucian_ is the reckless one.

“About that,” Ille stands up and offers Lucian his hand, “I have an associate I’d like you to meet.”

Lucian takes it and grins, “Associate? You have friends that aren’t in our squad?”

“Friend might be a strong word for it.” Ille leads him towards the hangar doors, “I know this might be a surprise, but don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”

The doors slide open. It’s a sith. A Red Sith, terrifying looking and with a lightsaber already drawn, the red light cutting through the grey of the ship. Shit, what the hell is this? If this guy is a friend of Ille, then why the hells is there an ignited lightsaber - and since when does Ille have a sith friend - and if this guy is a friend of his brother and Gimrizh, then why the hell wasn’t he told about this? “Ille, what the hells is this. Who is this?”

“Nice to meet you,” the Red Sith says with a vicious looking smirk, “I’m Reus Korribanil, I’m a… _friend_ of your brother’s girlfriend. Don’t bother asking your Chiss here anything else. Now keep quiet, and come with us.”

Ille lays his hand gently on Lucian’s upper arm, “Don’t worry. Darth Baras will take you into protective custody -”

“Baras?” Lucian throws Ille off and steps backward - fuck does he have his blaster? Yes, he does, thank the stars, but can he get to it without being stabbed? “Are you crazy? Ille, what have you done? Baras is trying to kill my brother - Protective custody, my _ass_!”

“Your brother is a traitor!” Ille pleads, “Baras will keep you safe while this all blows over!”

Reus shoves Ille to the side, “Shut it. We’re taking him in by force. You wanted to try the nice way, now it’s time for my way.”

Oh fuck this is not going to go well.

Fuck fuck fuck - Lucian raises his hands into fists, his heart pounding in his ears as adrenaline rushes through him. How could Ille be this _stupid_? He’s known from the start that Lucian’s been kept off the front lines for his own protection and he was _there_ when Lucian got the message from Malavai to stay low and avoid Baras! He’s been by Lucian’s side for the whole ordeal, he’s known just as much as Lucian -  _ah._

Yes, he he sees where he might have gone wrong. Fucking damn it, Ille. In hindsight, that was a very stupid mistake Lucian made. Wow, he’s a shit brother.

“Have you ever considered…” He inches backwards away from the Red Sith, nervously grinning at him, “...  _not_ working for Baras? You know, we’re all on the same side here, long live the Emperor, glory to the Sith, I’m just a pilot and I’ve never done anything but serve the Empire, seriously this is ridiculous -”

Reus twirls his lightsaber and stalks towards Lucian, “Oh be quiet. I’m looking forward to when Baras finally lets us kill you.”

“What?” Ille gasps, his jaw falling open. “You told me he would be placed in protective custody!”

“Don’t be stupid, Baras doesn’t _do_ that. Now shut up and help me deal with this traitor.”

Shit. Lucian draws his blaster - even if he can’t beat a sith, he isn’t going down without putting up a fight. That’s just not his style. He can’t believe Ille did this - although if he had been told that Ille was endangered by traitors, he might have done the same - nah he wouldn’t have, he doesn’t trust Baras after everything he’s heard. It’s a sad fucking day when an average pilot can’t trust his squad or the Dark Council.

“No, you can’t hurt him!” Ille yells, moving to stand in front of Lucian - holy shit, he was _not_ expecting that, but _stars_ he loves his friend.

Maybe they have a chance, if Ille is -

Reus waves his hand at Ille and the Chiss is sent flying across the hangar bay and into an ISF.

Ille’s still breathing, but he’s not moving. And Lucian needs to worry about himself right now. He holds his blaster in shaky hands, ready to shoot as soon as the sith makes a move. Damn it, he always thought he’d go out in the cockpit of a fighter. Not cut down by some crazy maniac as part of a scheme he doesn’t fully understand.

Reus advances and then there’s a blare of sirens through _Vanguard_.

“Damn it, not another krething interruption,” Reus growls. “If this is - “

A shuttle breaks through the atmo field, skidding across the hangar bay and crashing into the far wall. Sparks go flying and the shriek of durasteel rings in Lucian’s ears.

Well.

His brother did say that help was coming.

“I think those are _my_ friends?” Lucian says, uncertain, as he watches the shuttle doors fall open.

Two men jump out, one a study in dark colors, the other dressed in pure white. Lucian doesn’t recognize either of them, but they’re wielding lightsabers and walking towards him so fifty-fifty they’re allies. The one in white carries a green saber and there’s something about the peacefulness on his face that makes Lucian certain he’s a Jedi. The other has a red blade - Sith, without a doubt.

“ _Tremel_ ,” Reus grins like a _siqsayaikish_ \- a demon fish, all teeth and sharpness. “I heard you were _dead_.”

The sith, Tremel, just looks mildly confused and annoyed, “I don’t remember who you are but I doubt it matters. And as you can see, I’m quite alive.”

“I was a student -!” he yells, his expression darkening, “Institute Five - remember? You ended up passing me over for that - that - _Gimrizh_!”

Tremel just raises an eyebrow. “I see.”

“Are you guys on my side? I’m assuming but… recent events…” Lucian asks nervously, “If you know Gimrizh…”

“We’re here to get you to safety,” the Jedi assures him with a smile, “Gimrizh sent us.”

Tremel slowly steps between Lucian and Reus, “Get the pilot to safety. I’ll deal with this… former student of mine.”

“Come on, Lucian, with me,” the Jedi says, beckoning.

Fifty-fifty. Lucian lowers his blaster and runs towards the Jedi, figuring that if he’s taking his chances, he’ll go with the people that aren’t outwardly trying to kill him. Besides, the Jedi are supposed to be pacifists. Although, not really towards Imperials. Whatever - it’s his best chance at living through this.

He glances back at Ille’s unconscious form, wanting to stop and grab him, take his friend with him, but there’s no time as the Jedi hurries him towards the shuttle.

“No killing!” The Jedi yells over his shoulder before gently pushing Lucian towards the pilot seat with a sheepish look and tossing him a datastick key for the shuttle, “Please fly, we’re both very bad at it.”

Lucian starts up the engine out of habit, glancing through the viewport to watch as Tremel fights Reus.

He knows nothing about this, but Tremel doesn't seem to be expending nearly as much energy as Reus, keeping the younger sith back without breaking a sweat. From the brief moments of watching Gimrizh fight, he can tell that Reus isn’t as skilled. Not by a long shot - the fight’s only lasted this long because Tremel is drawing it out.

The shuttle engine revs up and Lucian gets them hovering into the air. It’s a shame he’s way too scared and anxious and on edge to appreciate his first flight in ages.

“Tremel!” the Jedi yells out of the open doors, “The alarm’s been triggered - we have to go!”

Lucian can hear Reus scream something before there’s a giant crash and something goes flying. He glances out again, just to get a quick look. Tremel must have thrown an ISF at Reus - oh fucking - “That’s _my fucking fighter_!”

The shuttle lurches slightly - but not much, Lucian is _good_ \- as Tremel jumps on board.

Red alarms blare through _Vanguard_ , and Lucian quickly programs a hyperspace route that’ll take them just past Vaiken Spacedock. They’ll be there in a minute, but if they’re in hyperspace, they won’t be hit.

He punches it as the blast doors close behind them.

~*~

Malavai leans over his datapad, slumped into a seat in the kitchen. There’s nothing for him to do beyond pointlessly refreshing his communications log over and over in the hopes of hearing from Lucian. He can’t type or hold a lightpen right now, so he can’t work. Vette was correct in her earlier assessment - the parts they had on _Horizon_ aren’t exactly ideal. The replacement hand he’s using right now has a thumb joint and two finger joints, it’s bulky, it’s difficult for him to use, and it’s far too heavy.

It’s painful as well, although that part he welcomes. Every uncomfortable twinge or flash of hot pain as the nerves adjust - it reminds him of what he’s done.

Shame and guilt roil in his chest as he stares at the prosthetic, desperately wishing he could rewind time. After everything he did, Gimrizh is still kind enough to save his brother from his own mistakes - and he betrayed her. He should have just spared her the trouble and put a blaster bolt in his head before ever agreeing to work with Draagh. It would certainly have been easier for the both of them.

He’s drawn out of his thoughts as Vette saunters into the room, plopping down in her usual chair and putting her feet up on the counter.

“Sup,” she greets.

“...Can I help you?”

She holds up her datapad, “I’m here to do paperwork. I know, _shocking._ Made this cool friend on Corellia, only he’s kinda in trouble with the Empire - don’t worry, he’s sith, it’s just a big misunderstanding. Anyway, we promised him a pardon cause he helped us save Pierce. So I’m writing the thing up as a favor to Jaesa because she still needs rest.”

“I see.” He supposes he doesn’t actually know much about what the rest of the crew did while he and Gimrizh were… well. Pierce at least will write an official report. “You don’t have the power to issue a pardon.”

“Nope,” she agrees, “Gimrizh does. Once she’s done… once we’re on Dromund Kaas, I’ll have her give it the stamp of approval. I just figured I’d get all the hard parts squared away before hand.”

“Ah.”

Vette frowns, “What, no lecture? I don’t even get a ‘are you sure about pardoning someone who betrayed the Empire’ line?”

Not just a coward then, he’s also a filthy hypocrite. “Please, not right now.”

“Wow. That was a please? From _you_? How unexpectedly polite.” She stands up and leaves the datapad on the countertop, “I feel totally justified for what I’ve done then. Come on, follow me.”

This is the last thing he wants to deal with right now, “Vette, if you’ve - “

“Oh please, give me some credit. You’ll like this.”

It can’t hurt.

Malavai follows her to the engine room, his heart tightening as they pass by the closed and locked door to Gimrizh’s quarters. Although he’s been careful to avoid her when she leaves her room, those occasions have been incredibly rare during their trip to the Dromund System. He’s heard her moving about in the rest of the ship maybe twice in three days.

“Okay, close your eyes,” Vette says with a grin, heading over to her messy workspace.

That’s suspicious. “Why?”

She pouts dramatically, “Oh come on. I’m just trying to help you out, let me give you a hand here.”

“I’m not in the mood for a surprise, Vette.”

“That’s fair.” She grabs something from her bench and holds it out to him, “Trust me, I know you’d only want a practical gift, and I promise this will come in handy.”

It’s… it’s a prosthetic.

A good one, at that. Clearly it’s been put together from spare bits of metal, it’s not well finished, and it’s hardly top quality. But it’s closer in shape to an actual human hand, albeit a skeletal one. Far above what he’s stuck with right now. And Vette made it for him. He didn’t ask for it. He didn’t technically need it. She just decided to help him, even though she doesn’t know what he’s done.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, the words sticking in his throat.

He doesn’t deserve this.

She points to the prosthetic he’s currently using, “Can I show you how to replace it? I used a better locking mechanism for this one, it should be a tad easier on the nerves. Plasmajack lost a leg four years back on a job, this was the mechanism we fixed up for him till we could get his ass to a decent shop. I know this replacement is still pretty shit, but it’s more mobile and I figured it’d serve you better till we land on Dromund Kaas. Plus, you can’t exactly rig up something for yourself with that droid spare.”

Malavai’s almost on autopilot as he removes his current prosthetic and watches Vette show him how to attach the new one. It’s never exactly been a secret that they dislike each other, she’s never pretended to give a damn about him. If this were coming from Jaesa it’d be more expected.

Guilt stings at him. Vette doesn’t know. If she’s helping him, she should know. Or, to be more precise, she _shouldn’t_ help him because of what he’s done.

The new prosthetic she’s put together for him fits much better. It doesn’t ache like the droid spare, it’s much lighter and more manageable, and it has far greater dexterity. It feels almost like having his flesh and blood hand back. But it’s not of course. He can’t go back, he can’t fix this, as much as he would like to.

He flexes his new fingers, getting a feel for the mechanics. “Thank you, again, I… I don’t deserve this.”

There’s an almost knowing look on Vette’s face that he shies away from. She blinks and then it’s replaced by grin, “Eh, it was fun to make, really. Besides, I don’t want Gim to worry about you” - That’s unlikely - “and you looked so pathetic with that shitty replacement.”

At least that’s a return to normal. “And here I thought you were trying to avoid being insufferable,” he remarks, although he finds his tone sounds fonder than he intended.

“I gotta hand it to you, you really know how to compliment people.”

Malavai glares at her, “If you make one more pun - “

“What are you gonna do? Shoot me?” She laughs lightly, “You’re... _unarmed_.”

“For fuck’s sake.”

She just throws a hydrospanner at him, “Think fast!”

Before it can hit him in the face, he reaches up and catches it on reflex. With his new right hand. He can feel the weight of the tool, the impact of it hitting his hand - Vette did a remarkably good job considering what she was working with. He flips it around with his fingers before tossing it back to her.

“Successful?” she asks.

Malavai tries not to look too impressed. “It needs calibration, but yes.”

The grin on her face keeps getting wider until there’s the familiar lurch of _Horizon_ pulling out of hyperspace.

“Huh?” Vette sticks her head out of the engine room, “Guess we _are_ having a little stop before Dromund Kaas. We thought maybe not, cause Gim wasn’t exactly telling us anything about it, and we couldn’t figure out what else we’d need to do before - hey where are you going?”

Malavai’s already bolting towards the bridge. If they’re out of hyperspace it means they’re rendezvousing with Quorian Dorjis and Tremel - and Lucian. Hopefully Lucian. There’s always a chance that his brother didn’t make it or - no. Lucian will be fine, he’ll be safe. If Gimrizh put her trust in her allies, he’ll trust them as well. What other choice does he have?

Lieutenant Pierce and Jaesa are already on the bridge. Vaiken Spacedock looms in the viewport as _Horizon_ lines up with a hangar bay.

“You know,” Pierce comments, “This flying thing isn’t too bad. I can see why you like it.”

Malavai tries to clear his mind and stop panicking when he doesn’t even have any information. He takes a deep breath and asks, “How long till we land?”

“Eh. A minute, maybe? We’re going - actually we’re going too fast, hold on.”

 _Horizon_ slows down and the ship glides into the hangar bay.

There’s nothing Malavai can do from here. He leaves the bridge and then his heart stops as he comes face to face with Gimrizh in the hallway.

The both of them freeze up, an inch away from actually bumping into each other. Her eyes widen in surprise and it occurs to him that this is the first time he’s seen her since they departed Corellia. The fierce beauty that usually radiates from her is jagged, sharp - she looks tired. As though she hasn’t slept in days.

He watches her eyes flicker down to his right hand and then for a brief moment the same guilt and self-hatred that’s eating away at him is mirrored on her face. Then she turns away as if she can’t stand to look at him.

“Excuse me…” he says, hesitating as to whether or not to use her title or her name before eventually saying nothing and hurrying past her.

“Lucian is fine.” Her voice stops him in his tracks. She clears her throat, “I received communication from Quorian and Tremel. They’ve retrieved him safely and are meeting us on Vaiken - presumably they’ve arrived before us. Your brother hasn’t been injured. I… thought you might want to know that before seeing him.”

He turns around to thank her but she’s already vanished down the hallway.

Malavai is the first down _Horizon's_ ramp, rushing into the hangar before anyone else has even cleared the airlock.

Two unfamiliar men are standing by the hangar bay entrance, and sitting on a supply crate, nervously fidgeting, is Lucian. There's not a visible scratch on him - Malavai knew Lucian would be fine but the relief of seeing his brother again, safe and sound, is palpable. For ten years, Malavai has known exactly how far Baras’s power can stretch. Getting his brother through that always seemed trickier than the Kessel Run.

But here Lucian is.

Lucian gets to his feet and grins. “Hey Mal.”

And then he pulls Malavai into a hug and it’s as though there was never any danger to begin with. “It’s a relief to see you safe.”

“You have _no_ fucking idea what just happened to me,” Lucian goes off as soon as he pulls back, “There was this crazy sith that showed up to kill me and I thought I was going to die and I don’t even know these two people but they showed up and -” he points angrily at one of his companions, “Tremel threw _my fighter_ into a wall!”

Of all the things to be concerned about. Malavai turns to the two men - one of them he clearly recognizes as Quorian Dorjis. The Jedi looks exactly the same as he did in the holos. “Thank you for securing my brother’s safety. I appreciate the risk you took in crossing faction lines to assist him.”

“It was our pleasure,” Dorjis says with a light smile. “If you’ll excuse me, Gimrizh informed me that she’d like to speak with me.”

He bows out and heads up _Horizon_ ’s ramp.

“Huh,” Vette stops and looks him up and down as he passes. Once Dorjis is inside, she says, “I know that guy from prison! Good on him.”

“So, where to next?” Lucian asks, “No offense, but your ship isn’t exactly a passenger cruiser.”

“Gimrizh sent instructions forward.” Tremel withdraws a holo from his jacket and shows the group a map of Vaiken Spacedock, “There’s a few Cartel-aligned areas, here, and _here_. Quorian and I will protect you there until Gimrizh sends word that Baras is dead. Although Hutts are detestable, they are as easily controlled as all criminals - a few credits will buy us safety and anonymity.”

At least that’s a short term plan. An extended stay in Hutt cantinas, regardless of whether or not they’re on Vaiken, in sure to be fraught with peril.

“And then I’ll be back on Dromund Kaas for a bit and things will go back to normal,” Lucian adds, with more cheer than Malavai thinks the situation warrants. “Ovech will be a Moff, and I can get my old post back. Oh, and you can finally tell me all the crazy shit that you’ve been insisting I can’t know for my own safety.”

“I’m not allowed to simply give out classified information - “

“Relax, I’m not talking about classified shit. I don’t _want_ to know classified stuff. Just… what the hell has been going on with Baras and all that. I figure since he tried to have me offed, I should know a little bit of that story.”

Malavai supposes he does owe his brother at least something of an explanation. “Very well. Once… once Baras is dead. Then yes.”

“Good. Now, where’s Gimrizh? I want to thank her.”

Vette clears her throat from her place leaning against _Horizon’s_ hull. “That might not be the best idea right now. If I were you, I’d just send her a nice email or something instead.”

Gimrizh might have had enough mercy to save Lucian’s life, but she’s made it pretty clear that she wishes to be left alone. After what he’s done, Malavai would prefer to die than to go against her orders. Even with something as seemingly insignificant as this. “Vette’s correct. I suggest you contact after we send word of Baras’s demise.”

Lucian frowns, “Is Gimrizh okay?”

“Well,” Vette replies, shrugging, “We don’t know. Your brother and her got in some giant fight with a force user and _something_ happened. It’s apparently classified. Captain stuffy over here won’t even tell us how he lost his hand -”

“You lost a _hand_?” Lucian’s jaw hangs open in shock.

Damn it Vette. Malavai clenches his prosthetic behind his back. He’s been trying to hide it from Lucian this whole time. Of course, Vette _had_ to go and mention it. Reluctantly, he shows Lucian his hand, trying to keep the shame from creeping onto his face. “It’s not as bad as it seems, I assure you. It was a miscalculation on my part. And Vette certainly should not have told you, I was _going_ to work up to this information.”

“Well since _I_ made that prosthetic for you, I wanted Lucian to be able to admire my…” she pauses and clears her throat, “handiwork.”

Lucian bursts out laughing, “That was _awful_.” He coughs a few times and then smiles lightly at the two of them. “I hope this will be part of the story I get after Baras kicks it. Or at least, the non-classified version.”

“Very well,” Malavai agrees, “We’ll have time for all this shortly. In the meanwhile, stay safe.”

His brother rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll stay out of trouble on Vaiken, you go watch your terrifying sith kick Baras’s ass.”

Terrifying indeed. Lucian hasn’t the faintest idea.

Quorian Dorjis returns, walking down _Horizon’s_ ramp with a confused frown. “Did something happen to Gimrizh?”

“Yes, and we don’t know what,” Vette tells him. “Why you ask?”

“She tried to return my lightsaber.”

The lightsaber. One of the daming aspects of Gimrizh’s treason. This is Malavai’s fault. One more thing that he’s fucked up.

Tremel doesn’t seem to give much of a damn, “It hardly matters. We should move out - you can deal with that later.”

There’s a final enthusiastic hug from Lucian and then Malavai and Vette watch as the three leave the hangar and head into the depths of Vaiken. For a moment, Malavai’s almost convinced that some remaining assassin of Baras’s will show up out of nowhere to cut down his brother, but that’s a foolish, paranoid thought. Very shortly, Baras will no longer be alive to commit such a crime and then Malavai can finally stop worrying. Then he’ll have to deal with what he’s done without such distractions.

~*~

Gimrizh has never been good at processing her emotions. In the five stages of grief, she always gets stuck before she reaches the fifth one. Uncontrolled anger burns inside of her constantly, without control or reprieve.

For the entire trip to Dromund Kaas, she’s been mulling it over.

How did she not see this coming? How could she have been so blind as to ignore what was right in front of her - while of course, Pierce saw it from the start. She’s always tried to maintain the balance between letting her emotions guide her as proper sith do, and keep them from ruling her completely. That’s what she’s always been taught to do and she failed. She let her love lead her without thought and it ripped her apart.

Physically, as well, she thinks. Her hands still twitch occasionally from the lightning damage, even though she applied kolto to all the visible burns.

One kind word from Malavai, the smallest bit of affection, and she had let him into her heart without hesitation like an idiot. She had thought that just because he told her he loved her she was safe with him.

And even after everything, he still told her that he loved -

He had to have been lying. If he wasn’t lying - No, he was. There’s no use thinking about that.

She doesn’t even let herself glance at him as he walks behind her. The rest of her crew follows as well, letting her lead the way through the Citadel.

In a few minutes she’ll be confronting Baras. She should feel something for that. Some thirst for resolution, triumph in her success over him. Something. Instead she’s just angry and bitter, her hatred gnawing away at her insides. She hates Baras to be sure, but she hates Malavai more than she ever thought she could hate someone else, and on top of that she hates herself with a bone deep familiarity, as if digging her nails into an old wound that never properly healed.

In lieu of emotion, she repeats a mantra over and over, in time with her footsteps through the Citadel - _Baras will die and then this will all be over_.

One last job. Her final goal, clear and simple. Like those holovids Vette is always watching.

Defeat the villain and then the credits roll.

As promised, Darth Vowrawn is waiting for them in front of the entrance to the Dark Council’s chambers - the entire top floor of the Citadel is dedicated to their use. The smug, confident grin on Vowrawn’s face seems strange to Gimrizh, like it doesn’t belong somehow. She’s a step off beat from everyone else.

“Glad you could make it!” Vowrawn greets them enthusiastically, spreading his arms in welcome, “Ah, the anticipation fills my veins with fire - I feel a hundred years younger. I can’t wait to see Baras’s face when I introduce you to the Council.”

Vette giggles, “That might be a challenge, given that he wears that stupid mask all the time.”

Gimrizh tries to return their amusement but the smile refuses to cross her lips. “Are we expected?”

“Baras has called a special session of the Council to make his claim as the Emperor’s Voice official,” he explains, “I’m, ah, _fashionably late._ ” He gestures to the doors behind him, “Your former master and the most powerful Darths in the galaxy await. The play is yours. Shall I announce you?”

“By all means."

“Then please, follow me.”

Vowrawn leads them through the large set of double doors and down a long hall - at the end of which rests a large open chamber. The guards lining the hall let them pass after a simple wave of Vowrawn’s hand. Up ahead, echoing ever so slightly, Gimrizh can hear the sound of Baras giving a speech, his words incomprehensible but the sound of his pontificating comes through clearly enough.

“-better be Darth Vowrawn coming through those doors,” Baras says, his back to the door and annoyance in his voice.

Vardri, sitting next to Hadra’s empty seat, looks right at Gimrizh and bursts out laughing.

Vardri’s lack of decorum is almost a relief - him at least, she is used to dealing with. As their group enters the Council Chamber, Gimrizh almost feels afraid. Almost, and gone quickly. But the sight of the councillors, the strongest, wisest, most influential sith in the galaxy, sitting in thrones around the room is enough to take her breath away for a moment. A couple of them, Rictus and Decimus, appear only through holo and yet they still command just as much presence as everyone else in the room.

“It is,” Vowrawn declares, nodding in greeting to his fellow councillors. “And a few friends of mine who I believe know you.”

Baras turns around and Gimrizh takes a few slow steps forward, her feet echoing on the stone floor.

It’s been awhile since she was face to face with her old master. Last time, he shot her full of lightning and sent her on a death mission to kill Vengean. This encounter will be less in his favor. Her crew is behind her, conveniently by the main exit, Vowrawn is on her side in this. Even if she falters, one of them might finish the job.

Baras’s sole visible eye bores into her, narrowed in anger, his hands clenched at his sides. She would guess that he didn’t intend on her having the guts to show up here.

Across the room, Darth Marr leans ever so slightly forward. “Interesting.”

Ravage is less patient, “This isn’t the time for one of your games, Vowrawn. We have security here for a _reason_.”

“The Emperor’s Wrath has more than enough security clearance to come here, I assure you, my dear fellows. Listen to truth, please. You all are the victims of a ruthless and deceitful power grab.” Vowrawn strides forward to take his seat, without a care in the world for how every member of the Council stares at her.

Baras laughs, a disbelieving bark that makes Gimrizh’s blood boil. “Oh? What story has Vowrawn concocted for you, my old apprentice? This is a desperate attempt and we all know it. You, _child_ , are not the Emperor’s Wrath - you are nothing more than Vowrawn’s illusion.”

 _Go ahead_ , she thinks. Everything he wants to throw at her is hardly a surprise. The insults, the diminutive names, the condescension, it’s nothing she didn’t suspect from him. Nothing she hasn’t been on the receiving end of a hundred times before. She grew up an orphaned Zabrak on Korriban for _fucks sake_ , he is going to have to try a _lot harder_ if he wants to make her flinch away from this confrontation. _Do your worst._

“The Emperor will inform me what is to be done with Vowrawn,” Baras continues, “For now, assist me in destroying this rabble.”

He’s afraid.

For so long she’s been terrified of Baras, of what he could do to her. That had been the balance she was used to. It was what she accepted when she became his apprentice. She would always be the one to shy away from him, to keep her head down as she has always done, to make sure she didn’t anger him. Almost two years ago she came to terms with the reality that the best she could do was protect herself from his temper while she served him.

And now he’s afraid of her in turn. She should enjoy the sensation more than she does.

She stares straight back at him. “If you are so confident in your position as Emperor’s Voice, then you should not hesitate to face me alone. Surely, if the Emperor is truly with you, then you shall be victorious? You won’t need your fellow members of this esteemed Council to help you kill a _mere child_.”

“She is supported by one of our own,” Ravage reluctantly agrees. “I have no doubt about you, Baras, but we were not gathered here for an execution.”

Vardri grins like a knife cutting across his face. “Yes, Baras, why so shy? If you _are_ the Voice, the you’ll win. You only have something to fear if she’s telling the truth about being the Emperor’s Wrath. Go ahead! Fight her!”

“If you’re right, my old master,” Gimrizh adds, “you cannot lose.”

 _Fight me_. _Let me kill you. Once you die it will all be over_.

She can see the moment when Baras accepts that he doesn’t have a choice but to fight her. He draws himself up just a little more, putting on the show once more before a Council that doesn’t care. “Fine. The master will grant the slave’s last wish.” He points to Gimrizh, “The Emperor calls for your death. Attack me if you dare.”

“She’s no slave, you _bastard_ , and she never _was_!” Vette screams from behind them, almost throwing herself at Baras, only Jaesa holding her back.

Gimrizh turns and shakes her head slowly at Vette. This isn’t anyone’s fight but her’s. It’s her job to act as buffer for Baras’s wrath. Would they do the same for her - No. She can’t think that right now. She unclips both her lightsabers from her belt, letting her anger seep into the hilts, making the metal hum against her skin.

“I’m not here to kill you because I want to replace you, my old master. I’m not here because I used to work for you.” She takes another step forward. What he’s done needs to be said aloud. “I’m here because after you tried to kill me, the Emperor’s Hand contacted me and made me the Wrath. I’m here because you sabotaged the Empire for your own personal gain, because you tried to blackmail your fellow Councillors for power, because you attempted to execute - by your hand or others - loyal sith and imperial soldiers who had committed no crimes beyond inconveniencing you. I imagine the Emperor doesn’t think too highly of someone who misuses their power in his name.”

Baras draws his blade, the red giving his pale purple armor a sicking bruised color. “You weren’t this much of a talker when you were my apprentice.”

“And you were _always_ this much of a megalomaniac when you were my master.”

He glares at her, throwing a dirty look at Vowrawn as well. “Your champion will fail you Vowrawn. And then you’ll be next.”

“Is that coming from you or from the Emperor, Baras?” Vowrawn snaps back. “It’s hard to tell the difference.”

After that, it’s not a surprise when Baras throws lightning at her - she has been expecting it. _Anticipating_ it almost with delight. She welcomes his hatred, his fear, she _wants_ it. It’s everything she ever gave him and it’s _thrilling_ to be on the receiving end of it now. His anger is no match for hers, not when she was his apprentice, and certainly not _now_.

The lightning arcs towards her as if in slow motion, the dark side burning through her veins like wildfire. Funny. For so long she thought this would be a _difficult_ fight.

She flickers to the side. The lightning crashes into the ground and dissipates.

Unlit hilt in hand, she brushes a strand of her hair out of the way. Baras might have been correct about one thing - this is a performance. Not his, the Dark Council hardly cares about his attempt to grab power, his support never really believed in him to begin with. But her - they don’t know her. They don’t know who she is, they don’t anything about her or her skills. At the moment, they don’t know if she truly is the Emperor’s Wrath.

“I suppose it’s harder to electrocute me when I’m not _begging for mercy on my knees_ ,” she spits at him.

“That’s where you belong!” Baras bellows, sending a second bolt of lighting at her.

Idiot. If it didn’t work the first time it’ll hardly work now. It’s time for _her_ show - convincing the Dark Council.

She ignites both her lightsabers and pushes herself off the ground, leaping over the searing electricity. The force guides her as she twists in mid air and slashes at Baras. She lands, skidding to a stop behind him.

With a quiet clatter, his mask splits in two and falls to the floor. She cut just deep enough to leave a thin, elegant burn on his cheek. This is her stage. Winning isn’t enough, she needs to _show_ the strides her power has made beyond her former master’s. Instead of just killing him, she’ll strip him to his bones, bit by bit.

She straightens up from her crouch, flipping her red blade around in her hand. “First blood goes to me. If you want to call it a match, I’d be more than willing.”

“Why?” Baras asks, the question more furious growl than anything else, “Because you know you will inevitably lose?”

“So that you can abandon your claim as Voice with what dignity you have left.”

“How delusional of you.”

She hums. “No, I suppose I wouldn’t give up here, not really.” Her anger will hardly let her. “You and I both know that we can’t settle this so easily. The Emperor wants your head and I am _happy_ to obey that particular order.”

“Such bloodlust is only to be expected from someone of your species.” Lightning crackles once again at Baras’s fingertips and he lets it loose on her.

That trick again?

Gimrizh brings her blue saber up, letting the energy beam catch the electricity and then _flicking_ it to the side like it’s nothing. Any pain from it, any stray arcs of lightning that burn across her arm, none of that shows on her face. None of it hurts. Not with the dark side flooding her like this. Not after -

“Tsk tsk, Baras,” she says, taking a carefully calm step forward. She’s fighting. She can’t afford to be distracted right now. “You already learned that you haven’t the skill to beat me this way. I hate to say it, but you’re not as skilled in the art as your fellow Councillors. You might be a spymaster, but I doubt you’ve _mastered_ any skills in the realm of fighting. Used to having others do your dirty work?”

He raises his lightsaber, “I fought in the war, _child_. Underestimate me at your own risk.”

By blade it is then.

She dashes forward, testing his defenses with a dual slash to his head. Sparks fly as her blades crash against his. The next attack is his, a stab straight out of a Juyo holotext.

It’s been almost twelve years since the war and it shows in every aspect of Baras’s fighting. His stances are sloppy, his motions are practiced but rusted, and he’s unused to the quick read of combat, he can’t pick up on the slight shifts in an opponent’s body that indicate attack or retreat - or if he can, he’s become to slow to respond to them. The effect, either way, is the same. This is not a challenge.

She plays along anyway. Cuts at him just enough to slice lines across his armor, retreats just enough to throw his attacks aside as though they are nothing.

Over a year ago now, in a simple off hand comment, Malavai had once mentioned to her that her fighting style was flashy. It’s not that way by design. But her speed, her reliance on twisting for momentum, her agility, her capability for aerial techniques - although it might have been built to maximize her body’s physical strengths, she can see how it looks dramatic. Now, she draws on that. Gives every movement an elegant flair, lets the simple rhythm of battle down her senses so that she need not fake the ease with which she fights Baras.

Her old master is jerky, slow, incapable. She practically flows around him, striking and blocking as she wishes.

It goes against her instinct to drag this out. She usually ends combat as quickly as possible. But instinct - that told her to trust Malavai. She ignores it. And as it inevitably does, she finds that she was wrong.

Baras gets a little too close, his saber burning a thin line across her neck and _that is too far_.

Pivoting on her heel, she kicks out and plants her boot into Baras’s gut, sending him flying to the floor with a boom. Her hand reaches out for his lightsaber and with a simple burst of the force she rips it from him. It rolls until it hits the base of Darth Marr’s seat.

She steps on Baras’s chest. Grinds her foot into what’s left of his armor. The red and blue of her blades crosses at his neck.

“You’ve lost.”

Baras tries to spit on her boots, “Never. I cannot lose, my powers will not abandon me.”

“Then get back up,” she dares. She can feel him struggle but it’s useless. Every inch he gains upward she pushes him back down twice as hard. “Confess that you’re not the Voice.”

“I - I call upon the Dark Council to kill this woman!” Baras bellows, half his face pressed against the ground. “Now! The Emperor commands it! Strike on the Emperor’s behalf or incur his disfavor! Darth Marr - kill her!”

None of the Council will listen to him now. Marr certainly won’t. “I believe I’ll take my chances,” Marr replies.

“Ravage!” Baras is almost begging now. “Has your sense left you as well? Defend me! Defend the Voice!”

“I will not stand in the way of the Emperor’s Wrath,” Ravage decides.

Gimrizh can see the fear racking through Baras, the terror in his eyes as she stares down at him. He is nothing to her or to the Council and now he’s finally realizing it. “You think you can silence the Emperor’s Voice?” he cries, the lightsaber burns on his face contorting in the most grotesque manner. “Vengeance will be mine! Deliver the deathblow and I’ll return from beyond the darkness to strike you down!”

_Once you’re dead it will all be -_

It won’t be over. Nothing will have changed. She’s got what she wanted from him - she’s not afraid of him anymore, she knows she’s stronger than him. Killing him - This won’t end anything. It’s not a holovid, credits don’t roll after this, she still needs to get up in the morning and carry on - what’s the point of it all? It won’t undo the past - it won’t give back the illusion of Malavai’s love. She hates Baras, but not as much as she hates Malavai and not as much as she hates herself. Does she even still _want_ to kill him or is she just trying futilely to finish things?

And she let _Malavai_ live, despite the fact that he spied on her and - how many spies does Baras still have? If she kills him all his secrets will die as well.

“Take him away,” she orders, “We have prisons that can hold a force user of his capacity - I will deal with him later.”

An uncertain murmur ripples through the room.

Louder this time, she looks right at the red guards lining the room and commands, “Lock him away. Forever.”

As the guards move into the main chamber to take Baras into custody, she leans down and whispers in her former master’s ear, quietly enough so that he and only he can hear her. “I suppose I should thank you. If you hadn’t sent Malavai to kill me I doubt I would have had the strength to defeat you so easily. You did a remarkably poor job of training me to be a proper, dark sided sith, didn’t you? And even in the end, I had to learn that most painful of lessons from someone else.”

He’s about to yell at her again when she reaches out with the force and smacks the back of his head, knocking him out. She’s done listening to him for now.

Two red guards grab him by the elbows and drag his unconscious body away.

“At least, the end of Baras.” Vowrawn’s glee is crystal clear on his face. “The air clears, and my lungs breathe deeply again. Now I would say that you, my dear prickly friend, have proven that you are indeed touched by the Emperor. I accept you as Wrath.”

One by one, she can see the Councilors make up their minds. Rictus is impossible to read, his holo image revealing no emotion that she can see. Acharon and Ravage don’t seem quite as pleased but at least they don’t actually speak against her. Zhorrid, the newest member of the Council second only to Vardri, has a fascinated grin stretched across her scarred lips. The most important one to win over, however, is Marr.

With his helmet on it’s impossible to tell what Marr’s thinking. The silence drags on for just a half a second but in that time Gimrizh fears he might kill her himself. At last, he decides, “You are acknowledged, Wrath. Your actions will not be challenged unless they contradict our own, you are given free leave to act on the Emperor’s wishes as he sees fit.”

“I’m a little peeved,” Vardri says, pouting, “I was looking forward to Gimrizh joining the Council in Baras’s place, but… oh well. No successor would have been as fun to needle as her.”

He doesn’t matter right now. If Vardri gets in her way, she can deal with him.

On a whim, she calls Baras’s lightsaber to her hand. “Thank you for your patience, my lords. I’m glad we were able to resolve this matter as peacefully as possible.” She’s not glad. She’s not anything except angry. “I look forward to working with you - whatever you might think about me, I am _loyal_ to the Empire and to the Sith Order. My actions as Wrath will only solidify our power in the galaxy.”

She turns and leaves.

~*~

“Gimrizh,” Vette begins, “What the hell.”

She and the rest of the crew had followed the boss outside, into the miserable fog on the walkways wrapping the Sith Sanctum. For someone who just faced down the Dark Council and defeated her long time enemy, the boss is still in a mood. She’d just headed out of there without even talking to them! Vette’s offended on behalf of herself and everyone else. What, they don’t get a victory ‘hey thanks for helping me out on this suicide mission’ speech?

Gimrizh just stares at her, “There’s nothing to discuss, Vette.”

“You _did_ let Baras live,” Pierce chimes in, “What’s your angle? Death too good for him? Can’t blame you, the guy deserves a bit of torture after -”

“Enough.” Gimrizh retorts, flagging down a taxi. “I had my reasons.”

Jaesa’s lips sink into a disappointed frown. “Master…”

“I’ll contact you all when I have news from the Hand regarding our next assignment. Until then, you are on leave. Dismissed.” At that, Gimrizh steps into the speeder and slams the door shut, clearly not willing to continue this.

Pierce shrugs, “Well, I have…” He shoves his hands into his pockets and gives them a short wave goodbye, “I gotta make a trip to Ziost.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Vette can see Quinn slinking away. She waves to Pierce and then quickly whispers in Jaesa’s ear, “I’ll meet you at the apartment. Don’t wait up for me, okay?” She gives her a peck on the cheek and then follows the captain.

In order to get his attention, and to stop him from wandering too far, Vette pulls her gloves out of her pocket and throws them at him.

The soft synthleather smacks the back of his head.

“Hold on, captain stuffy.” She catches up to him and leans her back casually against the railing. The withering look he gives her as he hands back her gloves is pretty weak. Maybe a three out of his usual ten. “Actually, you should put on gloves yourself, now that I think about it. Your hand is _not_ waterproof and it’s _my_ work, I don’t want it fizzling out before you get a better replacement just cause it started to rain.”

Quinn pulls out one of his own gloves and covers the prosthetic, “Do you have a point?”

“Yeah. I’m… working up to it.”

“Well what do you propose we discus in the meantime? Our prefered huttball teams?” he asks blithely.

Wow, rude. “Damn, what does Gimrizh see in you?” she replies, rolling her eyes at him.

That remark drains the annoyance from his features. “I… don’t know. I never really did.” He comes to stand next to her, his forearms resting against the rails, staring out into the city with such a -

Oh right. Vette knows that look.

“So.” She clears her throat and asks in her most chipper voice, “What’s your poison right now? Self-hatred? Guilt? Shame? Depression?”

He tries to glare at her. Not very well, really. And then he just sighs and looks away again. When he answers, it’s with a surprising honesty. “All of the above, I suppose. Why are you… here? Talking to me. I know I’m not exactly your favorite person and - You built me a new prosthetic, why are you being kind?”

Yikes, he’s normally more articulate. “Well, I suppose, even though you can be kind of a dick in my opinion, you’re still… I guess you’re still my friend.” Ugh, did she just call him her friend? The things spending two years travelling the galaxy with only four other people will do to you. “So I’d feel bad if I could help you and chose not to. It wasn’t like making that for you was a challenge for me.”

“You wouldn’t help if - “ he cuts himself off but Vette can guess.

“If I knew what had happened on Corellia?” she finishes. “In a choice between regretting not helping you and then finding out later and regretting helping, well… I’d rather regret going out on a limb and being nice. Better to regret being nice than being mean.”

“Simple, but yes, I see your point.”

She nudges him with her elbow. “And besides, speaking of regret. You got a look on your face like you regret everything you’ve ever done in your entire life, ever.”

He flinches. “It’s classified.”

“I’m not asking for the story.”

“Then what _are_ you asking for?”

Good question. “I don’t know. I suppose… I’m _trying_ to say that I’m here. If you need to talk about shit, I guess. Since it seems like you and Gim haven’t been talking lately.”

She can see his eyes widen slightly. “That’s… unexpected. But thank you.”

The two of them enjoy the fog in silence for a few minutes. Quinn doesn’t leave because she knows he has something on his mind - he keeps almost opening his mouth. It’s easy to see that there’s a question he’s trying to work up the guts to ask. So she just waits quietly as he figures it out on his own.

By the time she’s almost given up and is contemplating heading home - the fog is making her lekku uncomfortably damp - he finally asks. “How do you know Jaesa loves you?”

A memory of Gimrizh sitting on a staircase asking a shockingly similar question comes to mind and Vette can’t help but laugh. “Ah, sorry. You wouldn’t get why that’s funny. This goes back to the ‘you never got why Gim was into you’ thing? Right? You can’t figure out if or why she ever gave a shit about you.”

“Something like that,” he replies.

“Well. I know Jaesa loves me cause she tells me that she does,” Vette says simply. “I trust her.”

“And if she doesn’t trust me?”

Shit - what _happened_ on Corellia? Vette knows Gimrizh, knows that her trust, once given, goes bone deep and to the grave. Vette is not an unloyal person but Gimrizh holds onto her scarce few loyalties like a lifeline. Did Quinn… - nah, he couldn’t have done something. Whatever else Vette thinks about him, she’s seen how smitten he is with Gimrizh. It’d be cute if he weren’t such an asshole sometimes.

“Gimrizh got hurt real bad on Corellia, huh?” Vette muses, “Like I said, I’m not asking what happened but…” She tugs her lekku over her shoulders and thoughtfully wipes off the water droplets. “You remember the first time we went to Alderaan, right? When Gim had that real bad panic attack?”

“Of course I remember,” he whispers.

“You were able to fix her,” Vette reminds him, as pointedly as she can. “Do the same now.”

He glares at her, “Gimrizh isn’t _broken_ , she’s not a _thing_ to be _fixed_.”

“Firstly, I approve. Secondly, you know what I meant. Go help her help herself. She’s hurting, and you, like it or not, are the only person who knows what happened. Since it’s dumb for me to wait around and expect her to tell me the full story, I’m going to have to kick your ass into gear and get you focused.” Vette waves her hands at him, “Go.”

“I am the last person she wants to see right now -”

“She _loves_ you, you idiot.” Vette points at the speeder platform behind them, “If you love her, then even if she yells at you, even if it’s months before she talks to you again - you’d still try to help her.”

He gapes at her. “She asked not to be disturbed. I won’t disobey her orders.”

“Uh, no,” Vette reminds him, “She asked not to be disturbed until we arrived on Dromund Kaas. Which, we have now obviously done. Her most recent orders were just that we’re all on leave and she’ll let us know if something comes up. I didn’t hear a ‘don’t talk to me’ in there. So you wouldn’t be breaking orders. Technically.”

“I’ll… take it under consideration,” he reluctantly agrees.

Okay, she’ll figure that’s a win for today. “Then my work here is done.”

She waves goodbye and heads back to the speeder pad, leaving the captain to mope.

~*~

Reus wakes up with a massive headache.

A glowing containment field hovers just in front of him - he’s in a cell. Damn Tremel for this. That overseer is next on his list after he takes care of Gimrizh. If he couldn’t get her little pilot friend then he’ll just have to try again. He’s still got Darth Baras backing him, after all. It won’t be long before he can get his revenge.

“Hey,” he bangs on the field, getting the nearest guard’s attention.

The guard snaps to, “Uh… you’re awake.”

“Yeah. I work for Darth Baras, I was here on his orders. I assume I’m here for the fight on _Vanguard_ but I assure you that was sanctioned. Let me go,” Reus throws a touch of persuasion behind his last few words.

Without protest, the guard lowers the containment field and stands aside as Reus leaves, “And the pilot, my lord?”

“Pilot?”

“The Chiss, we recovered him at the same time as you.”

Ah yes, the spy. “Leave him in prison. And bring me my lightsaber.”

~*~

The pilot boy has been sent back to Dromund Kaas, Quorian is in the Ziost safe house, and Tremel…

He takes a deep breath. Sand and dust and desert dryness greet him like an old friend. The wind tugs at his robes as if beckoning him towards the towering structure before him. Familiar statues cast long shadows across the rocky desert, but none of them loom quite as much as the Academy. It’s austere structure cuts aristocratic lines across the landscape. And around it, the dark side of the force swirls welcomingly.

It’s been two years.

When he and Quorian - just barely not enemies then - had fled, Tremel had suspected he might never step foot on Korriban again. He’d been reluctantly prepared to stay away from Imperial space for the rest of his life, if necessary. Returning feels both like an unexpected luxury and a long-deserved homecoming.

His first few steps inside the Academy echo through his heart. He’d lived here for thirty years. This was his home. Now, it is something slightly less than that.

He lets the force guide him through the massive halls and chambers of the Academy, tracking down a presence that he could _never_ forget. Every corner he turns, he almost expects to see Eskella as a little girl, once again tearing through the Academy and laughing at the top of her lungs. Eskella had been the result of one night’s dalliance with a woman who died not a year later in the war, but even though Tremel might not have loved Aria, he loved Eskella with all his heart. As an overseer, her playground had been the Academy and the wilderness around it. That little girl still lurks here. And if Eskella has come to hate him, at least he will still have those memories.

The force leads him to the offices occupied by the Ministry of Education. Is she meeting with an overseer? Or does she work here now? Pride grows within him at the thought of her already graduated and working for such a respectable branch of the Empire.

Tremel ignores the clerk at the front of the office halls and keeps following Eskella’s signature.

The holoplate in front of her office reads as ‘Darth Temorus’ but he can sense that she’s inside easily. He hesitates with his hand over the door, debating whether or not to knock. He does and then regrets it.

“Come in.”

That’s Eskella. That’s her voice. He remembers when she’d spend hours trying to mimic her favorite Kaasian holo actors as a little girl until she could erase all Korriban from her accent. She had wanted to sound just as glamorous as them.

The door slides open and he can see her again.

She’s hunched over a terminal screen, quickly typing away. “Can I help…” she trails off as she looks up, her face going pale.

“Hello, my darling Eskella.”

~*~

Gimrizh stands at the window, staring at the city but not really looking at it.

There’s an emptiness in her. The anger that has filled her until now, driven her forward, kept her going, it’s all burning out, it won’t last much longer. And every inch that the hatred leaves behind is an inch that’s just hollow. Whatever filled her before seems a distant memory that she can’t quite recall even when she tries. If someone tapped her skin it would shatter into tiny glass slivers.

She let Baras live. She let Malavai live. What good is a Wrath - a weapon - that won’t kill. What use is she? Why is she continuing on without purpose? When the very last of the anger is gone what will be left insider her?

Based on how the Jedi talk, she didn’t think being emotionless would hurt so much.

The one detail that she circles back to, as she thinks it over, is her hypocrisy. That’s one of the uglier bits.

Because if she had been in Malavai’s position? If Lucian had been Yaina, if she’d been given a report that proved Malavai a traitor?

She would have done the same.

Been just as stupid, just as rash. Perhaps there would be slight discrepancies, she’s never had Malavai’s knack for planning, but in the end the results would have been the same. Perhaps she would have been less cruel, she doesn’t think she would have kissed him, her style is always a bit more blunt. Or perhaps she would have been harsher, brutal in driving him to kill her. Either way, she would have done it.

And she loved Malavai. Loved him more than - and she would have betrayed him had it been her.

That’s the worst.

Because Malavai can’t have loved her, he betrayed her, but if she would have done the same while loving him then - If he loved her and betrayed her anyway - no. He didn’t care. He was a spy from the start, he _never_ cared. He was using her. He had to have been. The alternative is - no, there’s no alternative. Malavai never cared about her and when he told her he loved her it was a _lie_.

She hates him. She hates him, and she cut off his hand, and she _regrets_ it, and she _shouldn’t_. As she told Jaesa, when she’s that deep into the dark side, she doesn’t regret anything she does. She’s killed comrades when she’s like that and she can’t find a shred of guilt anywhere in her hearts. But this - the guilt of that is poisoning her. She walked away without a scratch and Malavai will never have both hands again.

He lied to her and used her and spied on her - she shouldn’t feel bad about what she’s done. She hates him.

There’s a knock on her office door. Only her crew has access to her apartment - is it Vette?

“Enter,” she says quietly. She’s not in the mood for Vette’s enthusiasm right now, but if she puts up with it for a minute then she can get rid of her faster. “What is it?”

She turns around and it’s not - of course it’s not Vette.

“My lord,” Malavai says, his head bowed, “I sincerely apologize - I won’t take up much of your time.” He steps forward and places two data sticks on her desk, “I only came to give you these. The first is the dossier Baras sent me. The second is… everything I sent Baras. Those are the only copies left that I know of, although Lieutenant Pierce -”

“I know.” Her voice threatens to break. “He told me his _theory_. Did you try to stop him from forming his conclusions?”

How dare Malavai show that pain to her - how _dare_ he. “Yes. I believed that the information would only hurt you. I’m sorry, I know it wasn’t my place to decide that.”

It takes her a moment before she can form words. “Get out.”

He bows and leaves and why does she wish he’d stay? She wants to scream and rage at him - and she wants him to do the same to her. In his stupid, polite, rule-abiding way he’s trying to be kind and she _hates_ him for it. As though he’s _refusing_ to hate her in return. He should yell at her like she did to him.

But he doesn’t and now he’s gone again. Just as she asked.

Gimrizh can’t stand to look at those damn data sticks anymore, turning her back on them and facing the city again. Part of her is desperate to know what he gave her, exactly what bits of insidious truth he was sent, what Baras knew about her. The other half of her wants to hurl them through the glass window. The truth already broke her hearts. She doesn’t want to know what else it could do.

Without really being sure of how she got here, she finds herself kneeling on the floor. She’s shaking - of course, she’s furious - her eyes are stinging.

It starts to rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's the end folks, canon abandons us here and so shall - I'm just fucking with you, there's gonna be a new chapter coming out soon ;)  
> Next up - Celebris's interlude and the start of a new arc


	31. Interlude : Lucian Quinn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So remember how I said last chapter this was going to be Celebris's interlude? My brain made me write Lucian's instead.

Lucian sags into a chair in the dean’s office, his arms crossed over his chest. His ass is almost falling off the seat and his back is basically horizontal but it’s important to show that he doesn’t give a shit. Because he doesn’t. He totally, really, absolutely doesn’t. He didn’t care when he punched krething Thomis Pike in the face and he doesn’t care now. What the hells does it even matter if he gets suspended again?

Across from him, the Academy dean steeples his fingers, content to wait out the staring contest Lucian is trying to instigate.

The door slides open behind him and Lucian pointedly does not look as his brother enters the room.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” Malavai says in that stupid polite voice of his, “And I _sincerely_ apologize for whatever it is my brother has done now.” Lucian doesn’t need to see his brother to known Mal just threw him a dirty look.

“He punched another student. Without provocation.”

“Hey!” Lucian interjects, “You didn’t hear what he was saying before I-”

Malavai cuts him off, “I’ll make sure that he apologizes to the student he injured. I’m sorry that you had to waste your time with this.”

The dean waves his hand and lets them go.

Lucian slinks out after his brother. Only now does his notice that Mal’s in full uniform - that his brother left a packed bag outside the door. He refuses to feel guilty about what he’s done. If anything, Mal should feel guilty, not _him_.

Once they’re out of earshot, Mal turns to him and starts the expected dressing down, “What were you _thinking_?”

“It was fucking Thomis Pike again, he was being an _asshole_ about -”

“I do _not_ care. You cannot keep getting into fights, I don’t know why I’ve put up with it for this long, but this _has_ to stop. I can’t keep dropping everything to bail you out just because you insist on using your fists to solve your problems.” Mal pauses to get his wind back before continuing on his rant, only it’s not a rant, it’s a question that Lucian hadn’t been expecting. “Do I need to schedule you for appointments with Ms Ives again?”

At the mention of the therapist, Lucian flinches away, “What? No! Shut up.”

Mal glares at him, “You’re acting out. You need to talk to someone while I’m gone, and since you seem dead set on pushing your friends away -”

“Well if you weren’t leaving then I wouldn’t need anyone!”

“Not this again - service is _mandatory_ , Lucian, or do you not know what that word means?”

“Yes I know what it means! That’s not what this is about - you’re not fucking drafted, you _want_ this - you spent the past five years at a stupid officer’s school - “ Lucian almost tears his hair out, “You just want to go off and become a stupid colonel and fight for the Empire and - and die like Mother and Father!”

Lucian feels like he might cry - which he won’t, he’s thirteen, he’s not a baby - but at least it shuts Mal up.

“Is that what you think?” Malavai asks, stunned, “I’m not trying to die in the war, I’m only trying to do my duty to the Empire. That’s what we all have to do - that’s what _you’ll_ have to do in just over five years. I thought you wanted to fly -”

“I _do_. That’s not - I want to serve the Empire too okay, I promise, it’s just…” Lucian gestures vaguely at his brother, “You could be a medic!”

It’s an old argument between the two of them. Earlier, it’d been an old argument between Mal and… and Mother. Father had always tried to support them, but Mother wanted to keep them safe. She’d tried to encourage Mal towards medical work, helped him get into that stupid fancy school - she would always say that back lines work is just as important and - and then she’d gone off to fly fighters and she’d died when her ship went down.

“Not this again,” Mal pleads.

“You went to that stupid fancy academy, and you did three years in the reserve training medcorp, and you were really fucking good at it, and - and you liked it! Don’t lie, you _liked_ being a medic. If you wanted, you could get a posting at any hospital you wanted - or as a field medic or - _whatever_! You don’t have to go to the _fucking_ front lines and you’re doing it anyway!”

Mal glances around as one of the school aids closes their door to keep the sounds of arguing out. “Keep your voice down, _please._  Have you no sense of decorum?”

Lucian’s voice cracks as he asks, “Decorum? Have _you_ no sense of _loyalty_?”

“I am loyal to the Empire, as you should be-”

“Loyal to your fucking family, Mal, because if you did you wouldn’t be going off to be a stupid officer, you’d be getting deployed to a hospital in Kaas City!”

“I would do anything to keep you safe, you _know_ that. That’s why I need to be posted where I can make the biggest possible impact for the Empire - and like it or not, that isn’t in a hospital here. I _need_ you to understand that.”

“I _understand_ ,” Lucian allows, “I just don’t _agree_.”

“Well that isn’t my problem.” Malavai shifts his bag higher up over his shoulder and sighs, “I need to be on a Harrower in three hours and your stunt today is going to make me late enough as it is. Can I trust you to take a taxi home?”

“Yeah yeah.”

“And while I’m gone, you need to do your school work and turn it in - _on time_ , I mean it, Lucian. Get to bed at a decent hour, no staying out late, and _no_ speeder racing. I can’t tell you what to do while I’m gone, but you need to look after yourself.”

“Fine, whatever, _Momavai_.”

Mal looks both pissed off and upset. Not like Lucian cares, he’s trying to keep what’s left of their family together, unlike his stupid brother. “I’m not trying to replace Mother. I’m only trying to look after you.”

“... Don’t die,” Lucian mumbles.

Mal gives him a hug - stiff, because his brother is just way more uptight in uniform - and fixes the shitty bandages wrapped around Lucian’s bruised knuckles. “I love you. Stay out of trouble.”

“Yeah, I’ll try.”

“See you in six months.”

 


	32. The Show Must Go On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, sorry it's been over a month since an update, I had essays shoved down my eyeballs.  
> This chapter, aka: Another Queen song title? okay, everyone struggles to adjust with their new circumstances, and a new villain appears

Gimrizh wakes up in a confused haze. At first she can’t tell where she is and when she reaches over to wake Malavai she’s alone.

With a pained jolt, she remembers. “Fuck.” She groans and rolls over, slowly gathering up the energy to get out of bed. A kolto pack has crusted on her neck, but at least the small burn she received yesterday is healed. It’s been too long since she’s lived in her Kaas City apartment - the heating hasn’t been turned on and the floor is freezing cold. She shrugs on a thin robe and blearily walks over to the control panel on her bedroom wall, cranking the heat up to something tolerable before making her way into the kitchen.

At least she’d had the presence of mind to pick up some groceries yesterday before passing out at 17:00. She stares into the conservator for a solid five minutes before giving up. It’s not as though she’s hungry anyways.

Absently checking her holo reveals no further communications from the Hand.

She’s been told to wait for them to contact her with future missions but that could be a long time from now. It’s been so long since she’s had this sort of break - she doesn’t know what to do with herself. Baras sent her across the galaxy in a frenzy, even the long weeks spent in hyperspace were just transit, she’d had a destination and a mission to drive her. What does she do now, drive herself? She’s never done that before, and she’s well aware that it’s not really freedom. It is simply that the Hand doesn’t care enough to bother with her now that Baras is dealt with. The Hand has loosened her reins too far and she feels the risk of strangling herself on the slack rope.

Her feet still freeze to the floor as she stumbles downstairs into her office. The two datasticks Malavai left behind remain on her desk, as if taunting her with their existence.

What’s that phrase? The truth will set you free? Bullshit. She’s never really been free a day in her life.

Reluctantly, she grabs one of them at random and plugs it into her holo.

It’s the dossier Baras sent him. She paces in front of the window as it plays through the footage that she was expecting. Overseer Urinth, Quorian Dorjis - it’s not a surprise. It hurts, but she was prepared for it.

And fuck.

Malavai wasn’t wrong. _Baras_ wasn’t wrong. She - she betrayed the Empire.

She was dumb and stupid and she was trying to do what she thought Yaina would have wanted but Yaina _also_ betrayed the Empire and the Sith. No wonder Malavai - the first time they met on Balmorra he watched her pointlessly spare the life of Jedi right in front of him. After she hadn’t even been upfront to Baras about it - of course he thought her a traitor. What else _is_ she after seeing this?

The footage changes and she watches herself carry Yaina’s dead body back into Institute Five and -

A second later the holo’s off and she’s clutching at her chest, trying to breathe again, with no real clarity as to how the two moments are bridged. Her hand closes around the datastick to crush it into dust or throw it across the room - and she can’t. How could she? She could never hurt Yaina.

Just like how she thought she could never hurt Malavai?

Instead, she sweeps both datasticks into a drawer in her desk, intent on never looking at them again. Let them gather dust out of sight, untouched, until eventually the passage of time softens it for her.

Two things are clear.

Firstly, that she’s a traitor. Without a shred of doubt, she has betrayed the Empire. Saving Tremel, well, he was Sith and it was a choice between sides within the Empire. Even when she let, for example, Mashallon, live on Balmorra, she can excuse that as sparing the Jedi woman because of her potential informational value. But no matter her intentions, what she did when she spared Quorian’s life was treason. When she decided to help Giselle Organa on Alderaan - that was treason. When she spared Jaesa - let a light side Sith into the Empire - that was treason. Although Jaesa serves the Sith in her own way now, Gimrizh hadn’t known that would be the case when she took her apprentice in. And with her record - well, it’s damning.

Secondly, her hatred for Malavai is now tied with her hatred for herself.

~*~

A misty morning glows faintly through the window as Malavai hunches over a mug of cold caf. It has been a long, sleepless night, and he welcomes the daylight that slowly seeps into every corner of his apartment.

His datapad buzzes with a message alert, jolting him out of his thoughts. He rolls out his shoulders, feeling something in his neck pop. The disgusting caf gets thrown in the sink and he pours himself a lukewarm cup from what’s left in the pot. The message is from Lucian, a reminder that his brother is on a shuttle down to Dromund Kaas and will be planetside by midday. Malavai runs a hand across his cheek, the mechanical fingertips just barely picking up on the rough stubble that he hasn’t been bothered to shave off.

He should… he should clean up before Lucian arrives.

Organize the stack of datapads that adorned the kitchen table, put the blanket that’s tossed over the back of a chair on a bed where it belongs - and every movement aches ever so slightly in his wrist, reminding him of his missing hand, of what he’s done, of what Gimrizh did to him and what he did to her. Whatever pain it’s causing him, he deserves.

The razor nicks the side of his cheek when he shaves.

Small red drops stain the rumpled collar of his uniform and he just stares at it. He should change but he doesn’t have the energy. It feels almost selfish to waste his time on something like that when there’s work to be done.

If Gimrizh spared Baras’s life, there must be a reason, and Malavai’s best theory is that Baras is the only person alive who knows exactly how far his own spy network stretches. And if that’s why Gimrizh kept him alive, then it’s Malavai’s duty to help her however he can. He’s spent every waking hour since handing those datasticks over to her, combing through his old reports, memos and conversations sent from Baras, checking for mention of other possible operatives. During his time on Balmorra a few of Baras’s agents had come and gone, and Malavai’s made note of them and started searching for their whereabouts.

If the result is little to no sleep and lowering the already poor motor skills of his prosthetic, well, it hardly matters to him. He deserves far worse.

There’s a knock on the door.

He quickly tugs off the blood stained uniform jacket and pulls a clean, off-duty shirt over his head so that at least it won’t look as though he’s been awake all night. Not much can be done about the rest of his appearance right now.

By the time he reaches the door, the knocking has sped up to someone _pounding_ on the metal and is interspersed by the sound of the bell rapidly being pressed.

The door slides open to reveal a grinning Vette.

“Morning!” she chirps.

Reluctantly, he steps aside and lets her saunter in. “Good morning,” he says slowly. “Can I… is there a reason you’re here?”

“Wanted to make sure you did what I told you to do yesterday,” she replies. She hands him a package, “Oh, and I took the liberty of picking this up for you. You fucked up - had it sent to _Horizon_ instead of your apartment, so I found it when I went to grab my stuff this morning.”

He takes the box from her with caution. “I _did_ take your advice, although I don’t think it yielded the results you were hoping for.”

“Good things take time,” she says, heading into the kitchen and raised an eyebrow pointedly at the mess of partly stacked datapads and scraps of flimsy. “Well you’re a mess, aren’t you? At least with you, I know that when you fuck up, you make yourself suffer too.”

Does she - no, she’s just guessing. She can’t know. But it makes Malavai tense up just the same. “Thank you for taking time out of what I’m _sure_ is a very busy schedule to drop this off for me.”

She gives him a knowing look, “I hit close to the mark there, huh? I’ve been telling you I have good aim for years now.”

“As I’ve said -”

“Classified, yada yada, I know. I’ll find out eventually,” she tells him, “If you don’t sort this out, I’ll get the truth some other way besides just waiting patiently for one of you to tell me.”

A chill settles in his stomach. “I’d advise against that. You shouldn’t disobey Lord Gimrizh so casually.”

“This is hardly ‘casual’, captain tightpants. You and I both know that she’s never been this bad - and you know what happened to her. I’d ask Jaesa to get some answers - “ Malavai’s heart almost stops at that, “ - but she wouldn’t do it and so I won’t ask. She’s sweet like that, doesn’t like using her powers on allies that haven’t already given her permission. So you better fix this. I swear to - you better fucking fix whatever happened. Cause I’m pretty sure you played some part in this.”

He can barely breathe as she turns to head back out the way she came.

“Vette,” he says, forcing words past the knot in his throat, “I assure you, I will do everything I can to help Lord Gimrizh. I’d - I’d lie down and let her cut my head off if she wished it.”

She scrunches her nose up, “Yeesh, you’re morbid. But you had better. I don’t want to keep checking in to make sure you’re doing your damn job like I asked.” Her eyes turn soft, “Help her. I don’t know if she’ll let me help this time. Fuck - I don’t know if I _could_ help. I don’t even know what’s wrong. But she’s my krething sister and I’ll kick your ass if you don’t do everything you can.”

It’s strange how he finds himself slowly starting to like Vette. “I think you’ve made that clear. As I said, I’ll do everything I can.”

“Good.” She points to the box on her way out, “By the way, I’m pretty sure that’s your new hand. Let me know if it’s shitty and you need my expertise!”

~*~

Funerals are never a happy affair.

Over the decades of war, Foris has become better at dealing with them. He knows the part he plays, knows what to do and say when he breaks the news to Tanido’s mother - his sister works for the Ministry of Exploration and has been orbiting Dathomir for months now. It’s easier when there’s just one person to explain things to. Foris knows the standard Army funeral proceedings with the familiarity of an old and well known enemy. He knows how to get through them and he knows what to say during them.

It’s the fact that he’s never lost one of his squad before that’s throwing him just a step off balance. Sure, he’d been posted to different teams back in the day, and he lost his whole team on Taris, but once he’d been given Black Ops Seven, his very own squad, and handpicked the three to work under him - it had felt as if nothing could bring them down.

So he stands silently as Tanido’s mother says something tearful in the mausoleum. A brief but formal ceremony as the ashes of his friend are laid to rest.

And then he’s still standing there as everyone else slowly trickles out until it’s just him, Arlos, and Lorant.

The three of them stand in silence. In front of them is the holo plaque with Tanido’s name, rank, standard stuff, really, and a short blurb - “Loving son and brother, loyal soldier”. That’s all Tanido was to anyone who didn’t know him, Foris supposes. Impersonal, detached. Everything he expects from military.

“You know what it should say?” he says, forcing out a short, sharp laugh, “‘Here lies someone who loved shit beer’.”

Arlos doesn’t say anything, but his lips quirk upwards ever so slightly. That’s a win for Foris. The kid hasn’t spoken since Tanido died. There’s a story there, something about why the two of them were closer to each other than to the rest. Something in the way Tanido was the only one Arlos told about his past. It’s a mystery that Foris will examine on another day. A day that’s for the present, not for the past. Today is for remembrance.

Lorant snickers. “Funny you should mention that.”

“Huh?”

From her jacket pocket, she pulls a bottle of fucking Alderaanian beer. Exactly the same thing Foris has seen littering Tanido’s workspace a thousand times. “Picked this up on my way here. Figured we all need a drink.” She pops the cap off and takes a swig, gagging as she swallows, “Stars, that’s bad.”

Foris takes it from her and follows suit. “Tastes like a bantha pissed in unfiltered water.”

He passes it to Arlos.

The kid takes the bottle in an unsteady hand, looks at it for a moment with such a _broken_ flatness in his eyes, and then chugs half of it. Fuck, he’s got a stronger stomach than Foris, that’s for sure. Or, given the suspicions he has, it could be that Arlos is more used to the drink that the rest of them.

Lorant clears her throat, stealing the bottle back before Arlos finishes it all. “Come on, that’s enough. It might be piss, but it’s still from Alderaan - twice as strong and all.”

“Fucking shit beer,” Foris laughs.

She smiles, just the slightest bit. “Krething _awful_.”

The silence returns for a minute and it’s so oppressive and empty that Foris finally says, “He was my first pick, you know.”

“For what?” Lorant asks.

“Black Ops Seven. Us.” It’d been over a decade ago, he’d been given his own squad and told to fill the ranks. “Soon as they told me I could pick whoever I wanted - within reason, you know - Tanido was my first pick. He’s not just damn good but he - a squad needs someone who’s not a sour old fucker. Lorant, you were always crass as shit, Arlos, you were too young, but Tanido… had a good heart. Good backbone of a team.”

Lorant shakes her head, “Too damn cheerful all the time. We were in a fucking warzone almost constantly, and he’d alternate between panic and joke cracking.”

“He made me laugh,” Arlos whispers, so faintly that Foris has to do a double take and wonders if he heard that at all. And that sounds like - well, it doesn’t matter what it sounds like. Tanido’s gone and Foris can speculate all he likes later.

“He was good at that,” Foris agrees.

Lorant stares at the flickering holo of Tanido’s grave for a minute before she says, “I’ve been offered a transfer.”

“Thought you were working for Moff Whos-it?”

“Yeah. Got a bit of attention for the Bastion. I’m being offered a position leading Black Ops Nineteen - they lost their captain last week.”

Feels like a bucket of cold water got dropped on his head. “You’re gonna take it?”

She shrugs, “Face it, Pierce. We’re a four man squad consisting of three people, and we were understaffed with four as it was. We need at _least_ one new member, if not two.”

“We can find ‘em.” Foris insists, not wanting to give up what little of their team is left.

“I’ll… I’ll wait a month before accepting, alright? Come up with a name before then and I’ll stay if I think whichever sad bastard you drag out of the dirt is worth it.” She takes another swig of beer before coughing violently at the taste, “Fuck. You better find someone good, and _fast_. I _mean_ it. I know we’re up in Command’s good graces after the Bastion, but if we keep hanging around with no team and no ability to take missions, we’re fucked. You can hang out with your Sith and be just fine, sure. I don’t have that privilege. Neither does Arlos. Not all of us were lucky enough to get a Sith Lord on our side.”

He considers mentioning Gimrizh’s recent promotion to Wrath and then decides against it. It’ll be all over the holonet in a day or so, anyways. “How come I’m the only one who has to look? You’re out of work same as me, and you seem to be far more picky about who gets to join us.”

“Cause I don’t run Black Ops Seven,” she snaps back, “Although really, I outrank you, I should run this squad. That’s another reason why I think you need to find two new members - I can’t always tag along anymore, or if I do, I’ll get put in charge of this team.”

That might not be so bad. Foris can’t exactly be in charge full time, given that he’s also sort of working for Gimrizh, and he doesn’t intend to _stop_ working for her anytime in the near future. It does leave a bit of a bad taste in his mouth to think of having to split his time between black ops and her crew. The black ops division is restarting in full force - they’re bound to get an influx of work soon. Can he really justify leading his team when he can’t devote his full time to it?

“Take the offer,” he tells Lorant, surprising her and making Arlos flinch. “Not like I’m leaving you guys, nothing like that. But take the offer. Take Black Ops Seven.”

Lorant side eyes him, as though she’s suspicious of his proposal, “You finally cracked it or what?”

“Listen, I’m not going to be around all the time,” he explains. “Certainly not enough to justify running this squad. It’s yours.”

She blinks at him. “Shit. You’re fucking serious.”

“Of course I am. I’ll find the couple people you want to fill the ranks - make it so we have a full team even if I can’t be there, okay? Above all else I won’t let them dissolve our team again, and if that means I have to give it over to you then I’m okay with that.”

“Pierce… you built this team.”

“And you made captain before I did, and there was a force-damned good reason for that.”

Of all the times for her to get soft. “I’ll think about it. You’re right, everything you said is right, I just… I need to think it over. Get your ass looking for fresh meat while I do it, okay? If I do end up taking over this team, well, I’m enough of an asshole that I’d prefer it if someone else did the heavy lifting beforehand.”

He laughs, “At least some things never change. I can always count on you to be an asshole.”

“Damn straight,” she snaps back.

“Lorant’d be a good leader,” Arlos adds quietly.

Pain pokes at Foris’s heart. Of course Arlos doesn’t trust him to lead anymore, not after what happened to Tanido. It was Lorant that got the mission done, not him. It was him who lost one of their squad, not her. She’s got a far better track record than he does and he honestly can’t blame Arlos for wanting to switch. It still hurts a bit. He led them during the war and he got them back together for the Bastion. One mistake and all that comes crashing down. Rightly so - one bad power converter wrecks the whole ship and all.

Instead he just claps Lorant on the back, “I trust no one else to get the mission done.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She shrugs him off, “I _said_ I’d think about it. Let’s get out of here, make sure his mother isn’t alone tonight.”

Foris nods, “Good call.”

He takes the mostly empty bottle of beer from her and lets Lorant gently put her hand on Arlos’s arm and lead the kid out of the mausoleum. With them gone, the clean white walls seem to press in on him, the numerous holograves lined up on the walls loom like ghosts.

“Be seeing you,” he mutters to the holo. Tanido’s portrait smiles and blinks as the blue image flickers through the loop on repeat. In Foris’s mind, he can hear Tanido’s laugh. If he turns around, maybe, just maybe, he’ll see Tanido walking up the steps with Arlos and Lorant, as it should be. He doesn’t look.

Foris sets the beer bottle on the ground beneath his friend’s grave. “I’m sorry.”

~*~

Risha sits still, her hands cupped around a warm tumblr of caf, as Zirin sits behind her and works. His hands run through her hair with practiced motions, separating her curly locks into sections and brushing them out before pinning them where he needs them to go.

It's what he does when he’s trying to sort his thoughts out and that means there’s news. Probably of the not-so-good variety.

“Contact got nabbed on Ziost.” He finally tells her with a sigh as the intricate bun on the back of her head starts to form. “Codes got lost too. He's probably dead at some Sith’s hands and we’re up a hyperlane without a ship.”

Risha takes a deep breath and stays calm. This is salvageable. If they don't have the fleet clearance codes they can't get through the Dromund System’s blockade. And if they can't do that, they sure as shit can't get near the Barsen'thor. Which means no job, and no credits.

Although they don't need the money. She's a… a queen. Or she will be in a few months once her coronation is underway and her power secure. They're doing this for the thrill of it, to pay their crew, because they _can_. She thinks that Zirin perhaps is doing it because he's always had a fondness for playing the hero role. She herself is here for the challenge. Nok Drayen didn’t raise no quitter.

“We need new codes,” she says.

Zirin snorts and playfully tugs on her hair, “You say it like it's easy.”

“Vette might be able to get us codes.”

“Didn't know you were okay involving her. Neither of us want to put her in a tricky spot.”

“She's a damn good slicer and I know she can cover her tracks. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think she could do it safely.”

A final pin and a cloth wrap are added to her hairdo. “Done,” Zirin declares. He stands up and tosses her his holo comm, “You sure about calling Vette?”

If she didn't think that Vette was good enough to get them clearance codes and dodge the sith then Risha would never ask - because she knows that Vette will always say yes to something like this. And they need the codes. Risha isn't about to let sith stand in her way. _No one_ gets in her way. “Yeah. I'm sure.”

“You're hot when you're confident.”

“I'm always confident.”

“I know.”

She swats him without any actual annoyance and calls Vette.

In her mind, Vette is divided into two. The version of her that never grew past a scrawny thirteen, immortalized with Risha in the decks of _Sky Princess_. A Vette that sneaks on board enemy pirate ships and convinces an older Risha that it's a good idea. The two of them once snuck past thirty pirates while Nok Drayen raided the ship, _Headhunter_. That Vette panics when she has to wear a shirt that covers her neck, won't come out from under the bed when Nok deals with Hutts, and wanted to run through the stars with more fervor than Risha thought one small girl could hold.

The Vette she knows now is still her sister and she still loves her. The Vette of now is blazing with confidence and determination and the twitches of a recently freed slave has been replaced with the righteousness of a crusader.

Risha is still getting to know this new Vette. But what she has seen just makes her love her sister more.

“Hello again,” she says in greeting, noting the light smile on Vette’s face and the way one of her lekku is flipped over her shoulder. “I'd say it’s been awhile but for once it hasn't.”

Vette grins. “How's your neck of space doing?”

Risha shrugs and decides that direct is the best way to do this. “It could be better. I think we might need a bit of your help.”

“Oh?”

“We uh, our _job_ right now involves smuggling cargo off Kaas City. While we found a reliable contractor to get us clearance codes for the fleet around the Dromund System, he’s been intercepted by sith. Poor bastard. Couldn't think of anyone who could help us besides you. And maybe your Sith friends, although I'm not quite certain of the details of that situation.”

The smile slides ever so slightly off Vette’s face. “Sith situation isn't doing so good right now. Much as I'd like to help, I don't think the boss would give you codes if I asked.”

“You alright?”

“Could be better.” Vette shakes it off and tries to be flippant. Even after all these years Risha can still see her sister’s little acting tells. “But maybe I can slice into her computers or something. Unfortunately Jaesa doesn't have that kind of clearance, or I'd just ask her.”

The blue holo shuffles as Jaesa steps into view. “ _I_ could ask my master,” she volunteers.

Asking her sister is one thing but Risha isn't sure how comfortable she is asking Jaesa. “I don't want to push.”

“Risha…” Vette says slowly, drawing the words out. “Even if you did get clearance codes… You ever gotten through to Dromund Kaas itself?”

Risha turns to look at Zirin, adjusting the holo so that he's visible.

“Well.” He clears his throat. “I've dropped people off at the Dromund System. It's close enough?”

“Two seats on the Dark Council have been unexpectedly opened,” Jaesa informs them. “Security is tight. Even with proper clearance codes, you'd need an Imperial ship to clear the fleet around the planet, and you and your ship would be thoroughly inspected when you land in Kaas City.”

The two of them have run afoul of too many Imperials in the past. Even if they lucked out and got a stealth generator for Zirin, the rest of the crew would still never make it past a facial scan. They'd have to leave everyone on Celebris’s former crew behind as it is, which means with Zirin and Risha they'd need probably one more pilot from their crew. Bowdaar might not be registered with the Empire - those bastards tend to be lax when it comes to so called subspecies. But they can’t pretend one sole Wookiee is crewing their ship.

It's not doable if they're trying to get through especially tight security. Fuck though, now Risha wants to know how two Dark Council members got killed at the same time. A question for later though. She imagines the Republic will find out soon enough anyways.

“So how the fuck can we get planetside?” she asks.

“Kidnap a sith and - oh!” Vette’s face lights up and then suddenly falls. “Nope, nevermind.  Emmerage doesn't have his pardon yet. Once he does he’ll probably head right back to Korriban to get his little sithlings safe. Well that idea didn't work out. Shit. Can we just bring whatever cargo you're smuggling out to you? If you wait at the system edge and we take _Horizon_ …”

Zirin and Risha glance at each other.

He winces. “It's not… quite cargo. Not in the traditional sense.”

Vette’s eyes darken like a storm brewing. “Risha, if you are trafficking I swear to the fucking Winds that -”

“I'm not,” she promises quickly. “Fuck, Vette, you know I’d never - We’re not that desperate for cash and I wouldn't - This is more of a rescue, okay. We’ve been hired by what’s left of the former Barsen'thor’s crew to free her.”

“We’ll help.” It's Jaesa who says it. Her words ring with the surety of a vow and it makes Risha pause. “Whatever you need, we’ll help you get her out of prison.”

Vette glances at her girlfriend before agreeing, “Alright. Yeah, sure.”

“I don’t want you two getting into more trouble than - “ Risha tries.

“I will break Celebris out of jail myself if I have to,” Jaesa declares. Oh. _Oh_ that explains why Vette has fallen for her so completely. Vette orbits around people who change the world, and this fake-Sith or fake-Jedi or whatever she is - she’s got that bone deep determination that can move planets. For all Vette’s habit of trailing off people like that, this new Vette has the same quality in herself. Until now, Risha hadn’t seen enough of Jaesa to notice.

Zirin has this cute little dumbfounded look on his face, the way his mouth hangs open ever so slightly, his lips forming around an ‘oh’. “Ok...ay.”

“Stay at the edge of the Dromund System,” Jaesa instructs, “We can give you clearance to get that far, and if you’ve done it before then it shouldn’t be a problem. Stay there and stay out of sight until Vette and I bring the Barsen’thor to you. I can get her out of prison and get on an Imperial shuttle off planet.”

Vette shrugs nervously, “Yeah sure. We can do that. No problem, not at all.” She glances at her girlfriend, “Babe, you know this’ll be difficult, right?”

“Yes,” Jaesa says with a nod. There’s not a single hint of uncertainty on her face and Risha can’t help but admire it. “But it’s the right thing to do.”

“Alrighty then, I guess we’re going to start planning a jailbreak,” Vette cautiously agrees.

That’s… it’s actually not a bad plan. One of the largest problems had been dealing with the fact that Zirin and their crew are all known and flagged as Republic allies, and Tharan Cedrax and his two very strange friends are an ever _greater_ risk, given that the Empire probably is on the lookout for past associates of the Barsen’thor. But Jaesa’s a sith. Vette’s the best slicer Risha knows. To to sweeten that deal, the two of them are already on Dromund Kaas, so that removes one of the most challenging aspects of this job.

Zirin slowly nods in agreement, “We can pay you -”

“Hey.” Vette holds up a hand, “What’s family for?”

Of course, that makes Zirin beam like an enthused toddler. “Yeah! We’re family - did you get the wedding invitation by the way?”

“Yes! Not sure how we’re going to get there though.”

“If you miss my wedding,” Risha warns, “I shall be very put out. It’s actually going to be on a cruise ship. We’ve decided that the Dubrillion royal palace would be the perfect venue.”

“Have you actually… taken the Dubrillion crown back yet? Officially? As in, does the rest of the government recognize your legitimate claim to the throne? Cause that might be something you want to get squared away first.”

“Not yet. But they will. If _they_ make me delay my wedding I shall be _very put out indeed._ ”

~*~

Lucian props his chin up on the kitchen table and watches as Malavai goes through the motions of making tea. His brother tries to unscrew the jar the wrong way before opening it, forgets where he left the mugs - a clear sign that something’s wrong. Which - okay, Lucian kinda figured that one out already. Their father had raised them with the firm idea that there isn’t a problem in the galaxy that can’t be helped by a nice cup of tea.

“You forgot to turn the kettle on,” Lucian reminds him, clearing his throat.

Mal swears and starts the water boiling.

Like the amazing brother that he is, Lucian waits patiently while Mal finishes with the tea. The fragrant, smoky, and almost spicy scent of tea wafts through the kitchen as Mal takes a seat across from him and passes him a warm mug. Lucian’s suspicions are confirmed when he takes his first sip of tea.

“Korribani black?” He squashes a grin. “Very traditional, very _S_ _ith_.”

Mal almost chokes on his tea. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed - I simply grabbed the jar at random.”

“ _You_? Do something at _random_? Sounds fake, but alright.”

“You’re reading into things, as usual.”

Lucian rolls his eyes and drinks his - really delicious - tea. “So. Baras. I haven’t heard an official announcement about his death yet, but that’s not surprising. The Council is probably still scrambling for someone to take Hadra’s place, and ‘oh hi there’s a new Wrath and she just killed Baras and also she’s a Zabrak’ does sound like a bit of a tricky bulletin to put out. I mean, the only reason _I_ know that the old fucker has kicked it is because you deemed it _safe_ enough for me to come back to Kaas City.”

“He hasn’t.” Mal shifts uncomfortably in his chair and avoids looking directly at Lucian. “Baras is still alive.”

“Is… Is Gimrizh - “

“Lord Gimrizh is fine. She merely decided to spare Darth Baras’s life after defeating him in combat.”

Frankly that sounds like a terrible idea. Sure, Lucian is peripherally aware that Baras probably has a bunch of spies still kicking around, or a couple of valuable secrets of the Empire locked up inside his head, or a number of other bonuses that would entice Gimrizh to spare the man. Even so that’s not worth it. Lucian would bet that the man has some sort of get out of jail contingency planned out. He’s not a fan of shooting people when they’re down but he knows that some people are more dangerous alive than dead. That’s pretty damn basic. He’d thought that Gimrizh, of all people would understand that - and, although it’s a stereotype, she is a _Sith_. Murder isn’t exactly outside of her skill set.

“I’m sure she knows what she’s doing,” is what he says instead of all that. He knows how much his brother loves Gimrizh. At the end of the day, she was powerful enough to defeat Baras once. Presumably she can do it again should it become necessary.

Mal shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t know why she did it. I’ll never speak ill of her, but I’m uncertain if she _herself_ knows why.”

“Something wrong?”

Mal seems to shrink in on himself. “It’s classified, Lucian. Please don’t ask me again.”

“Okay.” It’s not like Lucian actually wants to hear classified intel. His life is complicated enough without adding that to the mix. “So Baras is… well, not dead, but dealt with. Alright.” He takes another sip of tea. “How’d you lose your hand?”

That question makes Mal’s face go pale. “Classified.”

Really? Lucian tries something more innocuous, something that can’t possible be fucking classified. “Well, how are things going with Lord Gimrizh?”

Mal fumbles with his mug and tea sloshes over onto the table top.

At first Lucian laughs, thinking it’s embarrassment. Then he actually takes a look at Mal’s face - and it’s like he just stabbed his brother in the gut. All pain and guilt. Mal hurries to get a towel and clean up the mess - avoidance, of course.

What the hell? Last thing Lucian heard, his brother had actually, _finally_ , get his act together and fessed up about his feelings to Gimrizh. It’s clear as day that she likes him back, so things should be going just fine. Briefly, Lucian considers the idea that Gimrizh got injured in the fight with Baras and then throws it out. No, whatever happened went down _before_ Baras got his well-deserved beatdown. From what he remembers, something had been up when he got saved from Reus by those two strangers. He hadn’t actually _seen_ Gimrizh, which had been unusual enough, and Quorian had remarked about how strange she had seemed when he spoke to her.

If he didn’t know better, he’d say it almost seems like Gimrizh cheated on his brother. Nah that’s crazy. She doesn’t seem the type - and Mal has that guilt ridden look in his eyes. Did Mal cheat on her? Wait, this is _Malavai_ he’s talking about, of course he didn’t cheat on her.

Whatever happened, either it was Mal’s fault, or he’s blaming himself for it anyways.

Mal mutters something along the lines of ‘not at liberty to say’ and busies himself with cleaning up instead of telling Lucian anything substantial.

The temptation to press the matter is strong, but in the end he lets his brother get away with it. It’ll rear it’s ugly head again when it actually becomes a problem. “So, uh, I kinda have a confession to make.”

“Do tell,” Malavai absently prompts. He’s paying more attention to putting away the dirty towel, so Lucian considers it a fine opportunity to spill the dirt.

“I know how Baras kept figuring out where you and Gimrizh were.” Lucian coughs a couple times. This isn’t exactly easy to say. It hurts. What Ille did… it twists at Lucian’s heart. “I had Vette keeping me up to date on what you guys were doing, and where you were going. And Baras… My wingman - Ille - he was working for Baras. I told him near everything, like an idiot.”

Malavai shifts from surprised, to angry, and then to ever so slightly horrified before he tries to crush any visible emotions. “How long was the duration of this… information leak?”

“Since you guys were on Belsavis. That’s when I asked Vette to keep me posted. As far as how long Ille was a spy…” Lucian’s heart twinges painfully. “I don’t know. Probably not that long, and I don’t think he really knew what he was doing. He thought that you were a traitor and that Baras was trying to put me into protective custody.”

Mal gives his mug a shockingly intense glare. “What a fool. I presume he’s dead now?”

“What?” Lucian’s jaw falls open. “No! I think the sith that tried to kill me - well, Ille got knocked out, but he was alive when we ran.”

“You should have killed him.”

“Why? Yeah, he was dumb, and I’m pissed at him, but he’s my - he’s my friend!” Lucian’s actually a bit disappointed in Mal. “You’ve been spending too much time around Sith. _I_ don’t kill people just because they make a stupid mistake.”

“That’s very naive. He _betrayed_ you. He deserves to die for that.”

“You don’t even _know_ him, Mal! Besides - as soon as it was clear that Baras wanted me _dead_ , Ille tried to protect me - that’s how he got hurt!”

“Just because he regretted it doesn’t make what he did to you acceptable!” Malavai is yelling, actually _yelling_ now. Lucian can’t remember the last time his brother yelled at him like this. “That sort of last minute switch is meaningless - he _spied_ on you! He led Baras’s agents right to you! That is not a crime he should be allowed to walk away from!”

“Shut up! I’m not going to hurt him for what he did - it was a mistake - he didn’t know - I like - !” Lucian cuts himself right off because no. No that’s not a thought he’s going to deal with right now.

Before he knew Ille had been working for Baras, he might have… entertained certain ideas about the two of them, but that doesn’t matter. If he helps Ille after this, it can’t be because he wants to get in his friend’s pants. Besides, there’s a war going on. The two of them have bigger issues to deal with, and Ille probably doesn’t like him back. Stars, Lucian’s starting to sound like his brother, what is the galaxy coming to these days?

He tries to avoid Mal’s eyes, but it doesn’t matter. He’s an unlocked datapad and Mal has a lot of experience figuring out what Lucian won’t say.

“If he cared about you, it doesn’t excuse anything he did. It only makes it more unforgivable.” Mal says quietly, “What you think you feel for him is fleeting - it’s not real.”

“Who the hell are you to tell me what I do or do not feel?” Lucian can’t believe the shit that his brother is saying right now. This goes beyond his stupid protective tendencies, this is - “Are we even still talking about me and Ille right now?”

He can see the moment when Mal closes himself off. “Of course we are,” his brother says stiffly. “I don't want you to get hurt by him again.”

“Yeah, but that’s my choice. It’s not yours. I’m not a kid. And if I choose to forgive him or not, or kill him or not - it’s my decision, not yours, it’s not even really _his_ , although again, I’m really not going to hurt him back.” Lucian runs a hand through his hair. “Look. I’m pissed at Ille too. But he didn’t have the full picture, Baras had been lying to him. He wasn’t completely aware of what he was doing, and it wasn’t like he planned the set up or anything. Once he knew that there was a chance I would be hurt, he immediately turned around and tried to get me out. I know he fucked up. But everything _else_ he did makes me think that he still gives a shit about me.”

“You’re right.” Mal’s voice is emptier than space as he stands up, grabbing the empty mugs and starting to do the washing up.

There’s something here that Lucian’s missing and for the life of him he can’t figure out what it is.

“Hey,” he offers, “I’ve got an appointment with Ovech in a couple days to talk about stuff - and Ille. If you’re really against helping him, feel free to argue it with Ovech. Not like I’ll argue any decision _he_ makes.”

Not like Ovech would ever agree to kill Ille is more like it, but sometimes Mal’s respect and deference for authority figures has its uses. If Ovech tells his brother to drop it, then Mal might actually listen for once. After so many years, Lucian is an expert at playing his brother.

~*~

Rycus Kilran watches the holonet absently as the news of withdrawing Corellia hits the galaxy. Most major Imperial outposts on that planet have been cleaned out and evacuated in the chaos after the attack on the Bastion. All that remains are the major Harrowers and Destroyers orbiting the planet - and those are one by one informing him of their preparations to jump to hyperspace and retreat.

Finally the failings of his successor are fixed. The previous Minister served for just over thirteen years and it was considered an unusually long term. Rycus fully intends to beat that record.

“Excuse me, sir?” A woman’s voice calls from just outside his office door. “A message has arrived for you?”

“Enter.”

The ensign enters and hands over the heavily security screened datapad - probably fresh out of analysis from Imperial Intelligence. The message hasn't been already read though. Just a screen for virus or other spyware that SIS might try and sneak past them.

“Thank you,” he says, eyes already on the text in front of him.

So. Tai Cordan has sent his reply - quite quickly too. His loyalty to the Barsen’thor must run deeper than Rycus originally suspected. An unanticipated but much welcome discovery. The more the man tries to stand by his old friend, the easier it will be for Balmorra to fall back into the Empire’s hands. If he and Zhorrid can find a way to ensure that Celebris is stable enough to actually show up to the negotiating table and not immediately ruin things for the Empire, then all the better. That's a more challenging prospect, although immensely rewarding.

Honestly, he’s _still_ impressed that she managed to win Balmorra in the first place. Unlike Corellia, the Empire can't afford to abandon Balmorra. No expedition from Imperial Intelligence has managed to locate precisely where the data on Balmorra’s production methods is being kept. Without that, they have no hope of replicating that planet’s astounding droid factories. As such, they’ve always kept a tight grip on that world. All they need is something to break the stalemate and tip things back towards the Empire’s favor.

He pauses the speed of his thoughts. The ensign is still lurking in front of the closed door. Even though is back is turned to her, he can see her reflection ever so slightly in the window.

“Do I have the honor of knowing who you are pretending to be today?” He asks, placing the datapad down on his desk.

The ensign presses a button on her collar and the holomask flickers out. Deep purple lips smirk at him, tugging at two sharp scars. “I'm Harreta Leed, mild mannered ensign with a fondness for opera music.”

He wonders why the visit today. When they had last parted, he had a feeling she would vanish into the underbelly of the galaxy. “Will you ever tell me your real name?”

“Now now, _Minister_. I think we can both agree that the less we know about each other, the better.” His Chiss associate leans calmly against his desk, her hip resting on a lightbox.

“You mean to say you haven't your own dossier on me? I'm shocked.”

“I know enough about you. Frankly, I knew more about your predecessor. He might have made a name of himself - as much as any agent _can_ \- in Intelligence, but I've always had a knack for my own organization’s security protocols. You - well, I could go looking. Haven't yet. I will if you make it… _necessary_.”

“A rather clear warning. I _do_ remember your last, I assure you.” He takes a seat and calmly looks up at her. “Now is there something I can do for you today? Or are you here to lurk and threaten?”

She actually laughs at that. It's impossible for him to guess if it's faked or not. “Just a warning, given that the Barsen'thor is _your_ pet project and my faith in Zhorrid is limited. A former associate of hers - Tharan Cedrax - was seen speaking to an information broker on Coruscant recently. Don't ask - I have my _own_ sources. Two days ago I heard the Empire caught one of his associates trying to smuggle Dromund Kaas clearance codes into Republic space.”

“Coincidence,” he replies. There's a thousand members of the Republic that would pay for those codes - and as far as he’s aware, Cedrax _already_ had numerous ties to the underworld before encountering the Barsen'thor.

And above all, he doesn't trust the Chiss. She wouldn't be telling him out of altruism, and he's curious what her motives for trying to fool him with this are.

She pushes herself off his desk. “That's what I thought as well. I figured I might as well keep you informed.”

What is her angle?

“You could simply ask. Whatever it is you’re trying to push me towards, I might be inclined to go there of my own volition.”

She just shakes her head. “You let _me_ worry about my reasoning. If you don’t want to see where my information goes, then I’m sure I can do my own investigations.”

“You are very adept at slinking about as you please,” he says. He's curious to see if he can throw her off, get some flash of emotion from her. “I was wondering - the tattoo on your right hip - what did it say again? It’s the name of your ship, isn’t it?’”

Her entire body goes still. “I thought you remembered our last meeting. Didn't I inform you of the consequences of attempting to blackmail me?”

“Oh no, you misunderstand. This isn't blackmail. It's just a question.”

“Then ask it.”

“Did you get that before or during your service in the Csillan Secret Police?”

“Before. It was… a promise. Or a threat, if you want to see it that way.”

“Everything with you is both promise _and_ threat.”

“ _Now_ you're getting to know me.” She holds up a finger before leaving. “By the way. If you were looking for my motivations you were looking in the wrong place. Everyone who enters the service of Intelligence ceases to be whoever they were before. My past on Csilla will reveal little of who I _am_. You’re a brilliant strategist and I imagine you’ll do quite well in your new position, but don’t try to play the information game with me. Try better next time, Kilran.”

He smiles, his lips pressed a little too tightly together. “I'll be sure to keep it in mind. But I doubt you came here to be _friendly_.”

“As we’ve just established, you don't know me. Who are you to say what I would or would not do?”

"Threat and promise, huh?"

~*~

Vardri slowly lets the tuka’ta fall to the ground, catching the beast’s dead body with the force just before it hits the dirt.

It would be inconvenient for the sound to draw more predators to their location. The tombs of Korriban are already crawling with all manner of unfriendly creatures, and while he might be confident in his ability to survive what they throw at him, Ashara probably can't. Furthermore, he doesn't want to damage the tombs. Tuka’ta and the occasional lurking sithspawn can't hurt the old sith structures but there are supposed to be far more dangerous beings locked up in here. Larger, ancient creatures.

“Master,” Ashara asks as she follows him deeper and deeper down. “I really think we might need a map?”

Not enough people in recent memory have been down here for that. “Khem is keeping an eye on where we are. Don't be concerned. Getting lost will be the least of our troubles if the holocrons I've discovered are correct.”

She gives a murmured assent and Vardri continues towards his goal.

It's close. He can sense it. The dark side is strong in Korriban, it permeates the air with its ancient power. Dromund Kaas, the Citadel, their sanctum on that planet - it's power is new. Overwhelming, perhaps, given how many powerful Sith Lords live there full time, but it's newer power. Korriban’s aura in the force is old enough to swallow him up. It whispers in his ear in Ancient Sith - a language he knows in its more simple terms. The complexities of it are lost to time. Few Red Sith today still speak it, and those that do are usually heirs to Houses with thousands of years of history and tradition that forbids teaching outsiders the older language.

No matter. Vardri has spent his whole life clawing at scraps, scrounging for power. The little bits he can manipulate and steal will be enough for him to learn. Besides, how different can it be from the modern version of the tongue? At least now that he sits on the Council, it is harder and harder for people to tell him no.

Ashara examines one of the statues carved into the cavern walls, tall enough to tower over their heads. “How deep underneath the Academy do you imagine we are?”

“Not a clue,” he admits. “The Tomb of Ajunta Pall was built over older, original Sith tombs - no one knows how far down those go. We should be reaching the ends of what was created for Ajunta Pall shortly. After that… we’ll be in uncharted territory.”

It’s always nice when Ashara doesn’t question him about these things.

They continue down into the dark.

Eventually, the sloped floor cuts out beneath them and drops into a long series of sharp stairs that descends further into the tomb. As they climb down, Vardri notices that the ceiling does not follow them, the height of the chamber growing dramatically until he cannot make out the detailed carvings etched above his head. He knows that they depict Bashara’s transformation from woman into a great winged serpent, but he can no longer see the carved lines of her horns or the massive gouges that represent scales.

That particular figure of the Sith pantheon, however, indicates that he’s in the right place.

At the base of the chamber the tunnels and hallways stop. Nothing remains, no deeper depth to travel to, only the stone doors in front of them that are marked with old Sith spells, faded by the years.

“Sorzus Syn’s last act against the Jedi,” Vardri marvels, laying his hands against the door. Every inch of the stone hums with old power, dormant and faint, flaring into the ocean of power that is the dark side when he prods at it. “She made preparations for a potential siege against Coruscant and sealed all her weapons down here, knowing that they would once again be brought to light to destroy the Jedi. Of course, she didn’t live to see them used, but there are the most fascinating rumors…”

Ashara steps back, getting a better look at the doors. “I admit, I’m unsure how they’re supposed to be opened.”

Easily, is Vardri’s guess. Syn could not have created difficult instructions without risking the future Sith Order never knowing how to access her weapons. “I imagine it will open for any sith that is powerful enough.”

He lays both his hands flat against the door, tapping into the dark spells that run through the stones.

_I am powerful. I am sith. I will destroy the Jedi. Let me in._

With a distinct sense of curiosity, he can feel the strong dark presence in the walls prod at him, testing him, as if searching him for something. Whatever it finds must satisfy the requirements for entry because it withdraws and the doors open.

There’s a great creaking as the stone door scrape against the floor, slowly being dragged open just a few inches to allow Ashara and Vardri to squeeze through one at a time.

“Oh my stars…” Ashara trails off, looking up, up, _up_.

Bones tower over them, parts on an intact spine coiling around the massive cavern, parts completely dust that have collapsed onto the ground. A few crystal lights shed light onto what were the remains of the biggest creature Vardri’s ever laid eyes on. In front of them, a skull bigger than even the most legendary of krayt dragons sits. It’s beautiful in it’s power, it’s monstrosity. It’s great and awe inspiring and _dead_.

Vardri’s empty as he starts to walk through the graveyard of bone. “Dead. It’s fucking _dead_. The only one rumored left in existence and it’s -” His hands clench at his sides. “Dead.”

“What _is_ it?”

“A war wrym. The greatest living weapon of the old sith, created through alchemy using a type of giant underground worm that used to live on Florn.” He taps a broken rib bone, the hollow noise echoing through the chamber. “It’s said they could crush a spacescraper.”

Ashara goes picking through the ruin and he stays, wondering why the fuck it had to be dead and why the hell nothing seems to go his way. The Dread Masters, taken from him. Half the force ghosts that he used to hold, gone. And now this? He needs more power. Being on the Dark Council isn’t enough, he’s well aware that at least half of them look at him like he doesn’t belong there. He needs to prove that he’s better than them. _Stronger_ than them. The most powerful sith that ever lived. It’s as though the great sith of old are taunting him from beyond the grave.

“Someone else has been here before us, master,” Ashara informs him, “These chests - they’ve been emptied.”

Vardri swears again.

Sure enough, when he storms over to her side to look there’s a number of ancient supply crates toppled over and utterly bare inside. “Check _everywhere_!” he demands, his pulse pounding beneath his skin as he struggles to contain his rage - it wouldn’t do to let lightning damage such a treasured place. “If there is _anything_ left in this fucking chamber I need to know so I can save it before someone else comes down here and takes it for themselves!”

“Yes master!” she replies, quickly returning to combing the area for items.

He stalks through the ruins, kicking a shard of bone into an empty crate - at least _something’s_ in it now.

Clear marks of desecration litter the area. Only a high powered sith could have accessed it, that’s clear enough from the door. Whichever sith thought that raiding this place in such a - for fucks sake they must have forced these wall panels open, it’s all been broken down and that’s not from age. Fucking bastard didn’t fucking know what was down here. Some stupidly high powered brute - the sort he knows these sith institutes like to churn out. No appreciation for the ancient power of the sith.

Frustration wells within him and his boot makes contact with another fallen chunk of rib, sending it flying across the room -

There’s something underneath it.

“Ashara,” he calls, bending down to brush the dirt off what he’s found. It’s the top of another supply crate, plain faced, with the writing on top lost to just a few scratches on the weathered surface. “I think I found something.”

~*~

Vette makes her way up the elevator to Gimrizh’s apartment. Shame, it seems the lock has been replaced since the last time they were on Dromund Kaas, as Vette distinctly remembers slicing it last time.

Hells, she's most surprised by the fact that Gimrizh _asked_ her to stop by. After being almost completely radio silent for the past couple days, Vette had been anticipated at least another week of sullen moping before she could even begin figuring out what the hell happened to Gimrizh. Not that the mystery isn’t tempting to Vette, but she doesn’t want to hurt her friend. Gimrizh is practically her sister, she’s not going to - well. She’s not going to be an asshole about this.

When she pokes her head into Gimrizh’s office, she’s surprised to find it empty. So she saunters on over to the garage and sure enough, the boss is crouched down next to that old-ass speeder she got on Voss, knee deep in engine guts and a hydrospanner in hand.

“Sup,” Vette greets, aiming for cheerful in case Gimrizh is still pissed as hell. “You wanted a chat?”

Gimrizh stands and wipes her hands down on dirty, ragged sweatpants - fuck does she _ever_ do laundry? “Yes, I did.”

Vette leans against a tool rack and searches Gimrizh’s face for signs on how she’s dealing with whatever happened. There’s almost… nothing. Like she’s empty, hollow. Sad, angry, but - depressed. Fuck. “So what can I help you with? Please say there’s something I can do to help.”

“The Dark Council has yet to release a statement regarding Darth Baras’s removal from the Council and subsequent imprisonment,” she begins, packing up her tool kit with a stony expression, “Likely to avoid panic - this comes only a scant few days after Hadra’s death. While Hadra’s replacement is clear, Baras’s isn’t. I imagine the Council will wait to announce Baras’s removal until they have a replacement candidate.”

Blah, blah, politics. “You want to what? Beat them to the punch?”

“Exactly,” Gimrizh confirms. “Release the information in the manner of my own choosing. I require your services as a slicer.”

“Uh. Can do, but I’m not _that_ great with Imperial systems - Quinn has me beat there, I’m more of a jack of all trades - fucking fantastic when it comes to anything the Hutts have made ever -”

“I’m not asking the captain, I’m asking _you_.”

“Gotcha. I mean, I can do it. Might take me a bit of time, but doable. You got anything in particular you want me to look for?”

“Yes, actually, and I need you to do this exactly as I say - no improvisations, am I understood?”

“...Sure.”

“Get the holovid footage from my confrontation with Baras. Cut the sound, cut the video off before I let Baras go - make it appear as though I executed him. Put it on the holonet - anonymously of course. Throw in a title… something along the lines of ‘upstart alien murders Councillor’ or whatever. The important thing is that you put it on the holonet before the Dark Council makes anything public.”

Vette chokes on air. “You know people will hate you for that, right? Like… that’s how you piss off over half the Empire.”

“I have a plan, Vette, I assure you,” Gimrizh replies, a touch of annoyance flaring in her tone.

What the fuck possible plan starts like _this_? Is she _trying_ to get herself killed by a mob? Vette pauses and seriously considers that. No - Gimrizh is a survivor, she wouldn’t try and engineer her own death, and she wouldn’t do it like this. If Gimrizh ever decides to end it, Vette’s pretty sure she’d choose to go out doing something for the Empire or some bullshit like that. Whatever - it’d be dramatic, is Vette’s point, and this isn’t dramatic. It wouldn’t be Gimrizh’s style.

So then what the hell is she planning, what could possible balance out getting half of the fucking Empire, if not more, pissed the fuck off at her?

“Yeah I don’t get it.”

“You don’t _need_ to understand, you just need to do as I say,” she snaps.

Yikes, okay. “Fine. Sure. Whatever. I’ll do what you ask, okay, I’m not gonna - You know me, I wouldn’t dick around behind your back for no good reason.”

Gimrizh’s eyes flicker over to glare at her, “For no good reason? So you _would_ do it if properly motivated?”

Of all the things to - “You know what I meant!” Vette gapes at her, wondering what the actual hell is going on with her. She’s getting pissed off over nothing and it’s weird and worrying. “You know me, I - I think of you like a sister, Gim, I’m -”

“Do _not_ call me that and I’m _not_ your sister!” The speeder bike behind them rattles ever so slightly. Gimrizh takes a deep breath, unclenches white knuckled hands while Vette watches with confusion. “That was all I wanted to speak with you about. Unless you have something else you’d like to discuss, you’re dismissed.”

“Actually, yeah, I do wanna talk to you about something.” Vette pulls out her datapad and brings up the filled out paperwork for Emmerage’s pardo n. “This guy named Em helped me and Jaesa out on Corellia. He’s not bad, I think anyway, and he’s a friend of Jaesa’s. Only problem is that he can’t get back to Imperial space without a pardon. I have that here, I even filled out the paperwork for you and everything. Just needs a signature.”

There’s an almost horrified look in Gimrizh’s slightly-too-wide eyes, and she recoils from the datapad, “I’m not going to sign that.”

“What? But he’s a friend.”

“He’s one of Jaesa’s light side friends, isn’t he? And he’s committed some sort of - I’m not pardoning a traitor. I won’t.”

“He helped us. He helped _Pierce_. He’s got three cute kids - he’s a teacher.”

“Then I’ll be doing future sith a favor by preventing them from having a traitorous light side bastard for a teacher,” she says, venomously spitting each word. “You and Jaesa may do what you like here, but I won’t go against the Empire by pardoning a traitor. I have to be loyal, don’t you see that?”

“This isn’t about loyalty, I don’t know why you’re so worked up about this. He’s just a nice guy who helped save our asses on Corellia.”

“I will not be tricked into betraying the Empire. Not even by you.”

“Why the hell would I be trying to trick you -”

“You already admitted you would betray me if you thought it was right, why the hell should I trust you or Jaesa when it comes to pardoning some traitor - letting a treasonous man back into the Empire - as if I don’t know the kind of damage that could do -”

Vette doesn’t feel like she’s going to cry. She _doesn't_. “Fuck - Gim - I -”

“Get out. Just do as I asked and don’t try and get me to sign something like that again.” Gimrizh points at the door, her finger shaking with rage.

“Fine,” Vette mumbles, “Whatever.”

She turns sharply on her heels and practically sprints for the lift out of the apartment.

~*~

Eskella wraps her hands around a warm mug of caf and tries to reconcile the fact that her father is still alive with the two years that she’d thought him dead. Even with him sitting in front of her it’s hard for her mind to fully understand. But it’s undeniably him. Different - a prosthetic hand, white trim on his robes where before he hated the color. He’s grown his hair out too, it’s long enough to be braided tightly against his skull and she wonders who did that because her father had struggled to so much as wrangle her hair into a bun when she’d been little.

Then again, she’s different now too. She brushes her hand against her cheek, feeling the ridges of the three long scars that cut across her face - finally healed now, when before he left, they were still packed with kolto.

“So you work for the Ministry of Education now?” her father asks. He can’t seem to decide what to do with his hands, holding onto his cup of caf like a lifeline once she gives it to him.

She shrugs. “Not really. I’m apprenticed to Temorus and I’ve been attempting to find a job in the Ministry. After you - well, there weren’t many branches that would take me and you always did good work for them so they said they’d look over my application. I was working on my thesis project back on Korriban.”

He latches on to that tidbit - probably avoiding the subject of his disappearance, that’s what Eskella suspects anyways. “Oh? What are you writing about?”

“The failings of the Institute system in regards to their narrow focus on combat training.”

He purses his lips. “The only reason you have your mother’s surname of Gryton is because I didn’t want to give you mine. Many good sith have come out of Institutes.”

Always point of contention between them. She’s unsure whether she wants the name of a woman she never knew or if it would have been preferable to be a Balmorril despite never setting foot on the planet or either of its Institutes.

“Perhaps,” she allows.

The awkward silence between the two of them creeps back in as they sip their caf. She tries not to keep thinking about it - two whole years. Two fucking years and not a single peep from him, and she’d needed his help.

“That woman you brought out from Institute Five was rotten though,” Eskella tries, hoping to find some common ground.

Her father tenses up, “Gimrizh was the one who saved my life.”

“What?”

“Baras ordered her to kill me - more precisely he asked for my hand and the felucite ring I wore. She chose to interpret his instructions perhaps more literally than he intended and cut off my hand to spare my life.” Her father avoids her eyes by finding his mug apparently fascinating to stare at. “And she organized my escape off planet at great personal cost to herself by enlisting rather unconventional help.”

If she knows anything about her father it’s that he’s enough of a traditionalist for ‘unconventional’ to mean just about anything. “You’ll have to elaborate. I _have_ been curious as to how you got off planet.”

He clears his throat once, then twice. “There was a plan to send a Jedi with false information back to the Republic - she broke him out of prison as part of the mission and then he helped me utilize his pre-prepared shuttle off planet to smuggle me out. In my confusion I regret that at the time I was less than polite to him - although he forgave me quite easily.”

A Jedi. “She threw me in prison to act as a body double for a Jedi,” Eskella snarls. “I confronted her about you and the next thing I knew I was on the floor of a jail cell while she helped a Jedi escaped.”

“Ah.” Her father takes a long drink and then, “I apologize for that. How long were you -”

“Just under a week, but Korribanil was off planet herself by the time the stupid prison droids ran me through the system.”

“I regret that she did not find a better way of doing that, and I do regret that you went through what you did.”

“No matter. I suppose I owe her for sparing your life but I fully intend to confront her about what she did to me.”

“That is your prerogative.”

Eskella has never wanted her father to coddle her, and she didn’t even as a little girl. It has, however, always infuriated her sometimes when he staunchly allows her to fight her own battles without even attempting a show of parental interference or protection. They both know that she doesn’t want or need him to get angry on her behalf of course and she would be peeved if he tried it. It’s simply the fact that he _doesn’t_ pretend that annoys her. She knows he loves her - or at least he did before these past two years.

“You could at least try and be upset at her, you know,” she mutters. She shakes her head and then asks, before he can respond, “So what happened to you after you escaped the Jedi?”

Clearly something that he doesn’t want to say.

Her father gets up and goes to the sink, refiling his mug with lukewarm caf. He slowly opens two sugar packets and stirs them in, the noise of the packets disturbing the steady patter of rain outside.

“There’s no delicate way of saying this, I suppose,” he announces, finally breaking the silence, “The Jedi - Quorian and I are… involved.”

Eskella chokes. Of all the things she’d been expecting him to say, _that_ certainly wasn’t one of them. The horror of his actions is hardly lost on her - “You - you’re involved with an enemy of the Empire? Father, you _idiot_ , I never thought I’d have to accuse you of fraternizing with _Jedi_. How _could_ you?”

“If you can’t recall, up until a few days ago I was _also_ an enemy of the Empire,” her father replies stiffly. “I was hardly in a position to judge then and I will not now.”

Perhaps it is a blessing that she has never shared her father’s name. The less there is to associate her with a traitor, the better. How could he do this? Even he if hasn’t given away imperial secrets to this Jedi - _Quorian_ \- he’s still compromised his own judgement to the point where a _Jedi_ makes for an acceptable partner. She’s disappointed in him. It’s been so long that her anger at him is - it’s cold.

She’s angry at the _concept_ of her father, not the man sitting in front of her right now. This version - presumed dead for two years, in love with a Jedi - she doesn’t know him enough to hate him.

“You realize if this gets out,” she says, strangely calm, “that it will become impossible for me to have a career.”

“I am aware of that - I don’t intend on publicizing this.”

“So you and… _Quorian_ intend to remain together. How do you intend to reintegrate into Imperial society while continuing this relationship then?”

The long pause before he replies is itself an answer. “I’m uncertain if I shall, and to what extent. I admit that I am not _averse_ to the life I have been living for the past two years, but I do not want to be uninvolved in your life or in the progress of the Empire. That’s why I am here, on Dromund Kaas, in the first place. Quorian and the Empire - they might appear to be conflicting values yet I have held both close to my heart for two years without compromising either. It’s not impossible.”

“Don’t cite me as a reason,” she tells him, letting her words be as a sharp as a nexu’s claw. “I am not a child. I am not under your care. I have gotten by just fine for two years believing you to be dead. Were I younger or in need, you would have a duty to me. That’s not the case anymore. I will accept whatever decision you make - make it on your own, for yourself. You always taught me that passion is a Sith’s strongest weapon. Take your own advice, will you?”

He can’t seem to look her in the eyes, “I see.”

“Good.”

“I’ll admit, I expected more anger from you, Eskella.”

At that, her annoyance and rage at him bubbles up - she quickly reminds herself that since her father seems intent on disgracing the Empire, _she_ has to be the adult here. “I am. I’m fucking furious at you. But you’re not going to change your mind and I won’t waste my time.”

She gets up, setting down her mug with a distinct _click_. There’s nothing more she has to say to him. There’s nothing else he can say to her to make up for this - this stupid fucking thing he’s done, this callous disregard he’s just shown for the Empire. For the Sith Order. He might be her father, but the Order is her family and as the past two years have shown, they care for her more than he does sometimes. They’re a more reliable support network, at the least.

“You are still my daughter,” he says, as she’s halfway out the door, “I would still prefer to be involved in your life.”

She doesn’t even look back at him. “And I’d prefer it if you hadn’t betrayed the Empire. We can’t always have what we want.”

~*~

“Hey. You showed up,” Lucian says, leaning against Ovech’s door. A couple of his uniform buttons have been undone and his hair is a complete mess. Part of Malavai is tempted to try and get his brother to straighten up, before remembering that they had a disagreement last time they spoke and Lucian tends to get prickly about these things after arguments.

Malavai doesn’t actually know if coming here was a good decision or not. He’s clearly compromised on this matter. “Let’s get this over with quickly.”

“Not in the mood for a friendly chat between brothers?”

“You already heard what I had to say, and I recall you disagreeing quite vehemently,” Malavai replies. “Unless your opinion has changed, as mine has not, I doubt either of us feel like rehashing the same argument again.”

“Fine,” Lucian sighs and messes up his already unkempt hair.

Without really thinking about it, Malavai snaps at him, “Stop doing that. At least try and look presentable before a meeting with a superior officer.”

Unexpectedly, Lucian grins, “There’s the asshole I know and love!”

“Lucian, _please_.”

A mousey looking ensign steps out of Major - no, Moff now - Ovech’s office. He salutes and waves the two of them in, “The Moff will see you now.”

Malavai slowly follows his brother into the office, already regretting his decision to come. He doesn’t want to start another fight with his brother, and he knows Lucian will make his own decisions in the end without much care for his opinion on the matter. The days where Malavai could influence his brother are waning.

Frankly, he hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t thought his brother would be victim to the same stupid decision that Malavai made - as if it’s not bad enough that he has to live to see what he’s done to Gimrizh, now he has to see something similar happen to Lucian as well. It feels as though the force is taunting him for trying to save the both of them. How could Lucian actually care about this - this wingman of his - Ille? After everything, after _betrayal_ like that, Lucian should thank the stars that it was only a fleeting emotion and move on.

“Lucian,” Ovech says in greeting as they walk in, “and Malavai, I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I apologize for my intrusive presence,” Malavai says, “Lucian requested that I attend today’s meeting.”

Ovech sits down behind his desk and gestures for the two of them to take the seats in front. “It’s not a problem. Now, I expect that this has to do with Lucian and Ille’s most sudden disappearance, and their failure to show up to work for the past week? You do understand the severity of your actions, do you not?”

“Well.” Lucian clears his throat, “Yeah. Long story short, a Sith showed up and tried to kill the both of us.”

It’s a testament to how long Ovech has been in service that his only noticeable reaction is a slight widening of his eyes. “Ah.” He looks over at Malavai, “You did ask me to keep Lucian safe - were you expecting something like this? You must know that there is little I can do in matters of Sith rivalry.”

Malavai nods. He was aware of that when he first asked Ovech for Lucian’s protection. It had been a decision less based on Ovech’s actual ability to interfere with Darth Baras, and more to do with the hope that if his brother was harder to find, it’d buy all of them time. In fact, had they not overthrown Baras, Ovech would be obligated to turn Lucian over to the Sith. He’s grateful that it hasn’t come to that, but it still concerns him. There’s too many factors - most importantly the rank of whatever Sith tried to kill Lucian. An apprentice - Ovech can pull rank. A Darth - well, perhaps not then. “That shouldn’t be an issue anymore,” he says instead. “The Darth behind Lucian’s attacker likely will not be a problem.”

“Very well. Then I will not reprimand Lucian or his college for their absence,” Ovech agrees, "So long as the both of them can provide written word from Lord Korribanil regarding the incident, neither of them need be punished."

Lucian chews on his lower lip, “Yeah, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Your absence?”

“Ille.”

Apparently, his brother is not subtle about his feelings, because the first thing Ovech does is glance ever so slightly towards Malavai before asking, “There’s not really anything I can do -”

“Not -” Lucian coughs a couple of times. “Not that. He…”

Of course his brother won’t be able to say it. Malavai can’t imagine how much that admittance had hurt his brother earlier, and that had been when it was just the two of them. “What Lucian is trying to tell you is that you had a spy in your midst. This… friend of Lucian’s - Ille - had been a spy for Darth Baras, the same Sith that I asked you to protect Lucian from. Apparently Ille had been spying on Lucian and reporting on my whereabouts, and more importantly, Lord Gimrizh Korribanil’s activities.”

Ovech’s jaw drops. “Damn.”

“Yeah,” Lucian mutters, head dropping down to stare at his hands.

“I can’t go up against Darth Baras -”

“No need,” Malavai cuts in. He’s uncertain how much he can say to Ovech, but Lord Gimrizh hadn’t instructed them to remain silent regarding what happened to Baras. That, and Ovech has been a good friend of his for many years. He trust the Moff. Ovech is smart enough not to spread this around before an official announcement has been made. “As I said, Darth Baras will not be a problem anymore.”

Ovech slowly nods. “I… see.”

“I - I need to talk to you about Ille,” Lucian says again, his voice wavering, “I don’t know where he is or if he’s okay. As soon as he knew that Baras meant to kill me, he turned around and helped - he tried to save me - and he got himself knocked out but I’m certain he was alive when I fled. I need to find him - I need to help him.”

“And I disagree,” Malavai says. He can feel his left hand get colder as he clenches his fists, knuckles turning white. The new prosthetic from the Sphere of Biotic Science is too good at processing tension and stress - it doesn’t hurt him at all and he wishes it did. “This Ille is dangerous. He betrayed Lucian and it wasn’t a simple moment of poor decision making, he had been a spy and a traitor for a good deal of time before then. That shouldn’t be forgiven.”

Ovech hums thoughtfully, “I need to speak with him myself. The Ille I knew doesn’t match up with all that. Give me a moment to check the database for his whereabouts.”

It’s easy to see the nervous grin that spreads across Lucian’s face at the prospect of finding Ille, but Malavai just darkens. Ovech scans the systems and Malavai wants to rip the datapad from his hands and throw it out the window.

“A Chiss matching his appearance is currently aboard the brig on…” Ovech sighs before finishing, “ _Vanguard_. It’s him. This report says he’s been unconscious for over a week and medics have been unsuccessful at waking him.”

“He was thrown into a speeder!” Lucian practically yells, “Of course he needs medical attention - we should get him to a proper hospital or - “

Ovech holds up his hand while his other punches a series of code into the datapad, “Calm down. I’m sending a request to have him transferred to proper facilities now. I’m also sending his ID information, apparently his ID was confiscated by a… a Sith.”

“The one that attacked us?”

“Let’s see…” Ovech scans the report, “Yes, a Reus Korribanil, apprentice - he gave his identity as an apprentice of Darth Baras.”

_Reus._

Where has Malavai heard that name -

“Shit.” Without thinking, he leaps to his feet, his thoughts running over what Gimrizh told him - how this Sith - Reus - tried to kill her - and no doubt he’d try again.  “Lucian, Moff Ovech, please excuse me.”

There’s a clatter as Lucian pushes his chair back and rushes to follow him - but Malavai’s already running down the hall.

He has to warn Gimrizh.

~*~

“It’d be a nice gig,” Foris says as he and Lorant step off the shuttle and into the light drizzle of Kaas City. As much as he holds nostalgia for the constant cityscape of Ziost, it’s smog can get unbearing at times and Dromund Kaas has much cleaner air. Even in a city that spans a continent like Kaas, it’s still offset by the jungles that sprawl across the planet’s surface. It makes for a nice homecoming, Foris thinks.

Lorant just slings her bag over her shoulders and shrugs, “I said, I’d think about it. Stop trying to sell it to me. Besides, you know if I did, I’d probably get another rank bump and then I could kick your ass even more than I can now.”

“Fine, fine,” Foris relents. He nudges her in the side, “Go chat up that hot Sith over there while I pay for our ride.”

She smirks and saunters off, “Well at least your taste in men is still top notch.”

He hands over the required credits to a shiny new speeder droid and then grabs his bag off the rack. The hussle of the Kaas City transit center hums comfortingly in his ears, welcoming after what feels like such a long time of being on the run and on the job with no break in between the two. In comparison, his current struggle of tracking down a replacement seems so trivial. At least he’s not going to get shot at today.

Well, it’s _unlikely_ that he’ll get shot today at any rate. Can’t completely rule out the possibility after all.

Maybe another frontliner for Black Ops Seven - nah, they don’t really need someone like that. They’ll probably be switched to infiltration, assassination, something like that. Tanido and his tendency for building large and often explosive weapons had been one of the few things that allowed them to be a frontal assault team. Without Tanido, it’s just Foris who specializes in that now. Sure, Lorant’s fucking amazing with a blaster, but if she switches to a command role, well, they need to reorganize, need to switch specialties.

Even after thinking about it for a week, Foris still isn’t sure who he’s looking for to fill the open position. He doesn’t want just another good soldier, he wants someone who’s even better than that. Someone worthy of Tanido’s spot.

Maybe that’s asking too much, but he doesn’t think he could look at himself in a mirror if he didn’t at least try and honor his old friend like that. Besides, his hesitance is completely justifiable. Black Ops is dangerous work. They can only afford to take the best of the best, it’s not exactly unusual for positions to remain open for long periods of time while a suitable candidate is found. That, and they’re hardly going to be sent out soon. The only real time constraint is that the longer they remain an incomplete team the greater the chances that they’ll be disbanded again.

He heads over to where Lorant is looking at the Sith boy like she wants to eat him. “Should I meet you later or…”

“Oh,” Lorant pauses while the Sith boy smirks at her, “Well…”

The turns and looks straight at Foris, “Actually, are you Lieutenant Foris Pierce?”

Lorant swears under her breath.

“Yeah, sure am. What do you want?”

“I have something to give you - or more specifically,” he trails off and retrieves a small holocom from his pocket. “I have something for you to give to Gimrizh Korribanil. I know you work for her, it shouldn’t be a hardship.”

Foris pauses and give the com long look over. It doesn’t seem to have been altered, it’s a pretty standard issue model. Still, he can’t help but be suspicious, “And you are?”

The boy smiles, and Foris isn’t sure if he’s being paranoid when that toothy smirk seems too predatory to be genial. “Honestly, I’m just a messenger. I was sent to welcome you back to Kaas City and pass the communicator along. Gimrizh Korribanil will know who I am when you tell her. If you really want, feel free to check the device. It hasn’t been tampered with.”

“Alright.” Foris takes the com, and when it doesn’t explode or anything, he pockets it.

The Sith gives another thin and ever so slightly unsettling smile before he leaves. Even after he’s gone, the communicator still doesn’t do anything, so Foris supposes perhaps it really is just a regular holo.

“Damn it,” Lorant mutters, “another hot one slips through my fingers.”

~*~

Gimrizh rolls a crystal through her fingers. The translucent stone shimmers red as the light hits it at different angles, humming a faint song against her skin. It’s an uncomfortable tune to her, rejecting her and preventing her from working with it. She should hardly be surprised, it’s the crystal she salvaged from Baras’s lightsaber, and it’s bound to repel her after she plucked it from Baras’s defeated hands.

The rest of his lightsaber is mostly useless to her as well. Composed of pretty and horribly maintained parts. All that’s good about it is the kyber core and even that no longer serves a purpose since the only owner it wants will never wield it again. Not if she has anything to say about it.

Frankly, she shouldn’t still be wasting her time on this stupid crystal. She should get rid of it, or return it to the Citadel to see if it could be reassigned to someone else. But there’s nothing else she could waste her time doing. She’s heard nothing from the Hand, she’s heard nothing from Vowrawn about Baras’s replacement. As Wrath she now has the freedom to just send herself out to accomplish the Empire’s goals. Only… she doesn’t have the energy to do it. She’s looked, read over the war efforts on a dozen different planets but she can’t focus. Her thoughts are as smoke, gone the moment she tries to hold them.

Vette hadn’t helped.

Gimrizh knows what she’s doing, she doesn’t need Vette questioning her decisions, acting like - she takes a deep breath. Vette won’t go behind her back on this. All Vette needs to do is shut up and do exactly as she asked.

Once what she’s done gets out, she won’t need the Dark Council to act on her treason, she can just wait and the entirely of Dromund Kaas will do their job instead. She’s a traitor. She deserves hatred, scorn, punishment for her actions. Malavai at least was right about that when he decided to stand against her. Treason cannot be ignored.

Soft footsteps echo through her apartment, heading towards her.

When she looks up from her desk she’s not surprised to see Jaesa standing there, a stormy frown upon her lips. “Hello, master. We need to talk.”

“Come in, thank you so much for knocking…” Gimrizh mutters, dropping the crystal onto her messy desktop.

“Do you know where Vette is right now?”

“I’m not in the habit of putting tracking devices on my crew.”

“She’s drinking, alone, because she asked me to leave. She was almost _crying_ when she came home today.” Jaesa’s shoulders are shaking, a tiny visible tremor. It’s clear that she’s trying and failing to tap into her Jedi teachings. Gimrizh should shake that habit out of her, it’s her job as a Sith master to teach her apprentice properly and instead she’s let Jaesa run amok. “Master, she cares about you. You need to wake up and see that what you say can and does hurt her. You can’t treat her like this. I won’t allow it.”

Something dark lashes out deep within the emptiness that’s eating Gimrizh alive. “Oh? _You_ won’t allow it? Are you thinking of turning against me as well?”

The force seeps into the room as the power that she’s unconsciously releasing curls around Jaesa, repelled by the stillness of her apprentice’s light side presence.

“Vette told me what you said. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but she only has your best interests at heart.” Jaesa sighs in disappointment - an emotion that hurts Gimrizh almost more than the previous accusations. “To be completely honesty, we’re not sure that you have your _own_ best interests in mind. If you would only confide in us more, at least in Vette -”

“No.”

“Then at least - the pardon - please sign it, Emmerage -”

“I will not pardon a traitor of the Empire.”

Jaesa flinches backwards, “I’m asking for a pardon because he’s a friend of mine. Without your signature, he and his students - three young Sith - will never be able to return home.”

“Do it yourself if you care for him so badly.”

“Master, we both know I don’t have the rank for such a thing.”

No, but Jaesa should. Jaesa shouldn’t - shouldn’t have to be tied to Gimrizh anymore. Let her apprentice find a better fate for herself than this. Gimrizh knows well that she’s going to fall further than she ever has before, she can feel it seep into her blood like poison, slowing her, turning her bitter. She can’t stop it but she can cut off Jaesa before it hurts her apprentice as well.

“I’m promoting you,” Gimrizh informs her, turning to stare out into the rain, unable to look Jaesa in the eye. “Congratulations. Once everything goes through, _you_ , Lord Jaesa Willsaam, will be able to pardon Emmerage yourself, should you wish it. You are no longer my apprentice. You need not obey me.”

There’s dead silence. A beat - one, two -

Jaesa’s voice cracks. “ _Master_. Please. Stop pushing everyone away.”

“That’s hardly what this is about - “ Oh but it is, “ - this is because you have earned it. You’ve served me for almost two years now, you’re more than ready to take up a Lordship.”

She can hear a rustle of clothing and when she twists around, Jaesa’s on her knees, forehead touching the ground as she bows down. “You will always be my master,” Jaesa declares, looking up with tears in her eyes, “I will always serve you. No matter what you do, I will never abandon you. Vette and I love you, please know that. No promotion, no change, nothing will stop us from caring about you.”

No, no, _no_ , that’s not how it’s supposed to go. Jaesa’s supposed to accept this like all Sith accept power - how foolish, Gimrizh should know by now that her apprentice rejects all things Sith, why should this be an exception. “Shut up and take the promotion, Lord Willsaam.”

“I will, so long as you promise to still be my master, to continue to guide and teach me, even as I become stronger.”

“I’m offering you a release from the deal we made back then. Baras is gone, there is no Sith who wants you dead anymore. You don’t need to stay by my side in order to survive. You can do whatever you want.”

“I wanted to learn from you then. I still do now.”

“Fine,” Gimrizh relents. Jaesa will figure out that she’s not safe around Gimrizh soon enough. Her apprentice has never been stupid. Once she realizes, then she’ll be clever enough to leave before it’s too late. “Get up, you look ridiculous and I hardly deserve such a display from you.”

“I’ll prove myself to you. You’ll see,” Jaesa says forcefully as she gets to her feet.

It’s at that moment, when Gimrizh is trying to get Jaesa to take the damn promotion and get out, that Pierce steps into her office as well.

“I see my apprentice isn’t the only one who needs to learn the concept of knocking,” Gimrizh snaps, glaring at him. She hasn’t forgotten what he told her on _Horizon_. No, she’ll never forget that. He _knew_ , he fucking _knew_ and he said nothing, he dawdled around and stuck his head in his ass while Gimrizh fell in love with Malavai. She can’t forgive any of them for that, herself included.

Pierce holds out a holo communicator. “Sorry, boss, I wasn’t… well, that’s not important. I was told to give you this. It’s a -”

The door opens again.

Gimrizh leaps to her feet as Malavai, out of breath, stumbles into her office. Right behind him is Lucian in a similar state of exhaustion. “What?!” she demands of them, anger scorching her tongue, “What the hell do all of you want!? Can no one in the fucking Empire knock?!”

“Please forgive us, my lord,” Malavai hastily apologizes, “There’s something you need to know -”

She stabs her finger towards the door, “It can wait! All three of you, get _out_ , I am trying to speak with my apprentice!”

“Wait, hold on -” Pierce tries, “I was told to -”

“Reus Korribanil.”

Gimrizh’s hearts stop. She forces herself to look at Malavai, “What.”

“The Sith who attacked Lucian,” Malavai explains, catching his breath, “was Reus Korribanil. You needed to know.”

Fuck - he’s right, she - _shit_.

Not right now, fuck, she can’t deal with this now. She’d thought he was at least a few more years away from graduating the Academy, she thought she’d have more time before being forced to deal with him again. She’d hoped, a foolish dream, that’d he would die in the tombs of Korriban, that he would bite off more than he could chew and a tuka’ta would be chewing on his flesh by now.

“Who the fuck…” Pierce asks, “Some asshole who thinks he’s got a bone to pick with Gimrizh?”

She shakes her head, panic welling within her. “Not quite right. His argument with me is _very_ legitimate. By all rights, I deserve to die for what I did to -” She’s not dying here. She won’t. “He wants me dead. He’s never given up on that, not for… fuck, almost ten years now. I shouldn’t have expected him to give up just because I left Korriban.”

“He reported himself as an apprentice of Darth Baras,” Malavai informs her. For a brief moment, she’s glad of his presence if only because he is the sole other person in the universe who would understand exactly what sort of threat Reus is. “I’m uncertain as to his current whereabouts, but given that he was sent after Lucian and considering the current state of Baras’s affairs, it’s safe to say that he has full access to Baras’s information about you. Which…” _Say it, you bastard_ , “... is quite substantial.”

Pierce swears a couple times. “This Reus, what’s he look like? Red Sith? Two nose piercings? Got his hair all fluffed in the back like a fucking model?”

Shit, shit, shit - he’s already made contact with Pierce. He’s in Kaas City. Gimrizh tries to speak past the fear that’s tugging at her throat. “You’ve met him? Where was he - what was he doing? I need to know everything - “

“Transit center,” Pierce explains, again holding out the holo, “He gave me this. Told me to give it to you. I’ve checked it for bugs and explosives and the like, it’s clean.”

She takes it from him as she would a live bomb. Carefully, slowly, she puts it down on her desk and turns it on.

Within moments, the blue projector lights up and a figure steps into the light. He’s older, his hair longer, a few inches taller, but it’s him. “Hello, horns. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

The air leaves her lungs as though she’s been punched in the stomach. She’s never forgotten his voice, not in the years she’s been away from Korriban, she’ll never forget. She can’t. She can remember the screams he made when she choked Irien to death in the dirt. She can remember the way he says her name, like he’s cursing her with every syllable. She can remember the way he -

Suddenly she’s eighteen again, pressed against a closet door while he fucks her from behind, a cold energy blade against her forehead, digging into her horns, cutting her - metallic blood in her mouth - the _sound_ of her bones being - his voice whispering in her ear - “ _This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”_

A silent scream rakes hot nails up her throat.

“Relax,” Reus says, twirling a blaster in his hand. “We both know that I probably can’t take you in a fair fight. Hence why we aren’t having this chat in person.”

“What the hell do you want now?” she chokes out.

He smirks at her, his lips cutting a jagged line through the blue light. “You know what I want. Fair’s fair.”

“Yes, but you’ve just admitted that you can’t take me on your own,” Gimrizh replies, desperately holding onto that piece of information. She can feel the concern on Malavai’s face more than see it as the room watches this conversation.

“Fuck, you really are narrow sighted, aren’t you?” Reus sighs, “Let’s see if you can’t figure it out? You killed Irien, my brother, my friend -”

She can feel the phantom touches of Irien’s pulse linger beneath her hands. “I don’t regret it.”

“Oh, I know,” he reminds her, poison seeping into his voice. “You filthy, _fucking_ \- you should have been punished for that. Not just some stupid reprimand from the overseers and then _nothing_ at all. You should have been made to suffer like he suffered, like I have suffered every day since then. I was going to do it, too, I was going to make sure that you paid for you crimes, only then you went and killed Yaina yourself.”

That name drains what color is left in Gimrizh’s face, “You know nothing of what happened - it wasn’t like that.”

“Whatever,” he waves it off - like Yaina’s death means nothing to him - how dare he - “You’re such a simpering little… of course you didn’t do it. Someone beat me to the punch and killed her first.”

“I would never have let you touch her, you damn -”

“Oh!” He glances over to something she can’t see, something out of the field of view. “I must be going. Do _enjoy_ the pain of this, won’t you? After all, you went to all the trouble of finding a spare just for me.”

Then he’s gone.

She barely knows what she’s doing until the holo is crushed lump of metal, shredded and useless. What the fuck did he mean? What was he talking about? He’s got a plan, of course he does, she’d hardly expected otherwise. What did he mean by ‘spare’ -?

Jaesa gasps, clutching at her heart.  She falls to her knees, her face white as snow, her whole body shaking as she cries out.

A spare.

A spare _sister_.

“Vette.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhanger! *jazz hands* 
> 
> Leave me a comment or drop a kudos, tell me what you liked, disliked, or want to see differently - I am a comment based lifeform


	33. Past, Present, and Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A conclusion to the cliffhanger!  
> This chapter, aka: This isn't a fic it's fifteen different guilt complexes stacked on top of each other, Vowrawn's office has cushy chairs, and finally something happy happens I promise,

“How the fuck are we going to get him to let Vette -”

“The man is clearly insane, we can’t simply _stop_ him, it’s going to be a violent confrontation - “

“Yeah but what about Vette’s safety, we have to -”

“I can call Lorant, get us _some_ backup at least -”

Voices blur into meaningless noise in Gimrizh’s ears. All she can hear is the pounding of her hearts. Reus is going to kill Vette. He doesn’t even know her - and he’s going to kill her just because she’s Gimrizh’s sister. How the hell could she have been so careless as to ignore the potential problems he could cause for so long? Of course this is his plan - it’s exactly what she did to him all those years ago.

Only Vette hasn’t done anything to him - she hasn’t done anything at all - she doesn’t deserve this.

And Gimrizh can’t… she can’t think. She has to save Vette but she doesn’t know how, she doesn’t know what Reus is doing or where he is or -

“My lord,” Malavai says softly, breaking her out of her stupor. “Can you track Vette or Reus using the force? If we can find them, we’ll have a chance of rescuing Vette before he kills her. I know you’ve said your sensory skills are lacking, but I don’t think we have much time.”

She can feel her whole body start to shake. “It’s not time I’m worried about. He wouldn’t kill her right away - he’d put it off. Torture her first. Record it for me to watch. It’s not her he cares about - it’s making me suffer. I might have a bond with him through the force - I can’t find him that way. I’m not good enough - oh _stars_ -” She knows what he’s going to do, and she’s so ashamed that she’s thinking of herself right now. “He’ll open up our force bond and - and make me feel what he feels. While he - while he hurts her.”

Lucian looks sick to his stomach, “Fucking hells - can’t we do _something_ besides sitting here and talking about it?”

She can’t find Vette! Desperate, she dives into the force, looking for something, _anything_ that feels like Vette. It’s worse than swimming in pitch black water, or navigating in a sandstorm. Her focus is gone, her clarity never existed in the first place, and she’s looking for something that wouldn’t even stand out - Vette’s not force sensitive, it’d be a faint connection at best and - she’s just not fucking good at this! She’s _trying_ and - ! Even when she pushes so far that it hurts - There’s _nothing_! Nothing at all!

“I can’t!” She cries - her eyes burn, hot tears sting at her eyes, “There’s nothing - I can’t do it - Jaesa - please!”

Malavai gasps, “Of course - Jaesa can - “

Jaesa’s gone.

It’s Pierce that figures it out while the four of them are just staring at the spot where Jaesa was only moments ago. “She’s already after Vette,” he realizes, “That’s good - she can track Vette - can you track Jaesa?”

“Yes - I think - hold on!” Gimrizh closes her eyes and dives back in, ignoring the mental strain, the agony that rips through her body as her connection to the force is stretched almost too far - it doesn’t matter, she knows what she’s looking for. Jaesa’s presence in the force is connected to her own, a bright, blindingly warm star that’s shooting through space. “Got her!”

“Then let’s go!” Pierce declares.

Lucian reaches out and grabs Gimrizh’s hand before she has the mental clarity to pull away from his touch. “Come on!” he yells, dragging her out the door, Malavai and Pierce right behind them. “You have a speeder?”

“Yes, but it’s a bike - it won’t fit more than two at best.” Gimrizh blanches.

He turns and pulls her down to the landing pad, drenching them in rain as they step outside. A speeder that she’s never seen before is waiting there, it’s dark black paint shining in the cloudy sky. Of course - this must have been how he and Malavai got here in the first place. Thank the force that they hadn’t taken a taxi.

Pierce leaps into the back seat and she practically throws herself in behind him just a second later, not even bothering to open the door.

“Keys!” Lucian holds out his hand and catches the datastick key that Malavai tosses him.

As the speeder revs to life, Gimrizh reaches down to grip her lightsabers tighter than a lifeline. She can’t fail Vette. She can’t. Selfishly, she refuses to let Reus win as much as she refuses to let Vette die. Spite claws at her hearts, wrapping its way around her chest, stoked into a frenzy by terror. She grabs at the force for comfort - please, please don’t let her fail now. Let Jaesa be faster than the wind, let them make it before Reus does something that can’t be fixed.

~*~

Vette wakes up with her hands tied behind her back and her knees chained to the floor and completely fucking panics. Before her eyes can even focus on her surroundings, she arches her neck backwards to feel - no collar.

Thank the stars.

A welcome revelation and one that safely crosses ‘slavers’ off her list of people who kidnapped her. Ah damn - moving has revealed that she’s awake to whoever’s watching her, so she might as well look around properly and figure out what in the fucking hells is going on. She’d been leaving a cantina, not _too_ tipsy, minding her own damn business and trying to get back to Jaesa’s place when something had hit her - a blaster set to stun, probably.

She glances around. It looks like she’s in a hangar bay, probably in one of the lower levels of a spaceport - can’t be the major Kaas City port, that one doesn’t have hangars this small. This one is tiny, hosting only a single ISF fighter with a really shitty hyperspace mod sticking out of the back. What fucking idiot put that thing together? It wouldn’t last more than a jump or two before breaking apart from a lack of a decent sized protective casing. For fucks sake, she’d prefer to have been abducted by someone who actually knows what they’re doing, not someone who’s such a moron that they’d duratape a forcedamn hyperdrive to a Harrower-locked fighter like an ISF.

“You’re awake,” a voice says and she finally gets a good eyeful of her captor.

He’s a Red Sith, blood orange skin and dark russet hair with a face full of gold jewelry that she kinda really wants to rip off his stupid nose and melt down for credits. There’s also a lightsaber at his side, which ups him from a guy with a blaster to someone who she probably shouldn’t fuck with.

“Hiya,” she replies, trying to wiggle her fingers at him, although it’s not worth the effort, given that her hands are behind her back. “Who the hell are you?”

He doesn’t quite give her his full attention - he’s setting up a holo recorder in front of her while he talks. “I’m Reus - Reus Korribanil, an old _acquaintance_ of Gimrizh’s.”

Vette jokingly looks him up and down, “Damn, if she was hanging around you, I can’t see why she’d dump you for Quinn. If you lose the weird kidnapping habits, I’m sure you’d make a way better catch just on looks alone.”

He laughs. It’s weird - it’s like he actually finds her funny but she still gets the sense that he’s only vaguely focused on her. “You’ll have to tell her that.”

“I’d love to. Tell you what, you let me go, I’ll run back to her and let her know that there’s a hot Sith interested in her.”

“Unlikely.” He pauses and turns the recorder on. “You must know I don’t intend to let you leave alive.”

Fuck. Fucking shit. Okay, Vette needs to calm the fuck down and think. He’s a friend of Gimrizh’s - but she’s never heard of this guy before? Damn, it’s been two years, she’d think Gimrizh would have mentioned a homicidal old flame by now. She has no idea why he’s doing this, she doesn’t think she can get out on her own - can she stall? Make a play to buy time? Surely, if this has to do with Gimrizh, her friend will break through the walls eventually? Shit, Vette can’t even contact anyone like this - no matter how much Jaesa likes to talk about bonds through the force, Vette can’t use those herself. She hopes Jaesa is watching her.

As it is, she’s fucked. Stall for time it is.

“Seriously? You don’t even know me,” Vette stares right into his red eyes, “I could be a nice person. You never know. Hell, I’m a pretty good drinking buddy if you’ve got some troubles that you’d like to chat about over a decent beer.”

He tilts his head at her like he can’t quite figure her out. But at least he’s paying more attention to her now. “It’s funny. I can’t see how you ended up so close to Gimrizh. You’re almost nothing like Yaina. I just don’t see the similarity that would have… hm. Maybe she was looking for someone who _was_ an opposite to Yaina - after all, that hardly worked out well for anyone involved.”

“I don’t know a Yaina, so if this has something to do with whoever that is, maybe you’ve got the wrong person here, bud,” Vette suggests.

“Oh no, I’ve got the right person. You’re Vette - Horns’s sister.”

“Hey! That’s racist, and you’ve got no right to call Gim that so why don’t you shut up with the insults?”

He laughs at her again. “Wow, she lets you call her Gim? You two really are close. This will work out perfectly.”

“I’m pretty sure my entire existence is based around throwing hydrospanners into other people’s plans,” she says flatly. “Whatever you’ve got up your sleeve might not go the way you think - er - what _have_ you got up your sleeve?”

He’s unrolling a cloth wrap - something similar to what she keeps her tools of the trade in, only wider. Sharp looking metal glints inside the pockets and she can’t help but sweat a little because damn. If that’s all he needs to do to intimidate her it’s fucking working. “It’s simple really - just a bit of fair play.”

“I’ve literally never heard of you before in my entire life, how is kidnapping me _fair play_?”

“You’re only tangential to my plan,” he explains. Good for her - she found herself an enemy who appreciates the value of monologuing. “Gimrizh killed my brother, so now I’m going to kill her sister. Slowly, of course, and I’ll get it on holo so that I can send it to her when I’m done. We also share a strange little bond through the force, which I’ll open so that she can feel it when I start cutting into you.”

Well shit.

“Have you considered seeing a therapist?” Vette babbles before noticing the very sharp and very wicked looking vibroknife he’s got in his hand.

He flips the blade around to hold it in a reverse grip - just like Gimrizh does sometimes. Funny, that. “Oh yeah. I’ve gone plenty of times. Got an all clear each time. That’s the thing about the Sith Order though. A little bit of healthy rage at a rival can be encouraged, especially if you’re stuck in the Institute System.”

“You know you’ll be killed for this.”

“I don’t particularly mind - so long as I can hurt her first. Since she killed Irien, I’ve been living only to make her suffer as I did.”

Vette glances at the ship. “Is that what the ISF is for? To try and make a quick getaway?”

He grins. “She can’t kill me if she can’t find me.”

“You’d get stopped before you even left Imperial space. I don’t know where you’ve been hiding, but Gimrizh is the new Wrath of the Emperor. One word from her and you’re the most hunted man in every single system that the Empire has a foothold in. Which is creepily just about _every_ system.”

“Wrath?” He pauses, almost amused by it. “I gotta say, I was never a real worshiper of the Emperor like some Sith are, but his standards are really slipping if he appointed a coward like Gimrizh to the post. She really is a coward, you know,” he adds, pointedly. “Terrible at facing the mistakes she’s made, and she ran from Institute Five the first chance she got. If she wasn’t such a coward, she’d have dealt with me years ago.”

Vette can’t deny that Gimrizh is a coward, but she hates the way he’s talking about her sister. “I don’t think mercy is necessarily cowardice. Maybe if you were a better person, you’d understand that.”

Knife in hand, he walks over to her as calm as can be, as if taking his sweet time. “For her, it _is_ cowardice. Now stop talking, I don’t want to make any mistakes here.” He considers her for a moment and then taps the knife against Vette’s shoulder, grabbing her arm to hold her in place even as she tries to jerk away from him. “I think I’ll start here. Begin small, you know? I have to make sure Gimrizh is paying full attention before I move on to the big stuff.”

Searing pain bursts in Vette’s upper arm as he carves a neat line from her shoulder to her elbow. She grist her teeth - fuck - she’s strong - she’s had worse. She remembers the sting of a slaver’s whip and the electric burns of a shock collar and he’s going to have to try a lot fucking harder if he wants to make her cry when she refused to at an owner’s hands. There’s no chance in all the Corellian hells that she’s going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her brought to her knees by this.

He flips the knife around and cuts a perpendicular line across her shoulder - holy fucking - he’s aiming to cut off a section of her skin. Oh stars.

In her mind, she whispers a prayer to the Great Winds with a fervor that she hasn’t had since she was a little girl. She’s a child of the storm, as all Twi’leks are, and she begs for the strength to not allow this to break her.

The knife bites her again and - then it stops.

She cracks open her eyes.

Reus has dropped her arm and is on his feet, facing someone standing in the entrance with one hand on his lightsaber. “Sorry, I’m not in the mood for interruptions,” he says sharply to the new intruder.

For a brief second, Vette thinks she can see the Great Winds themself, a whirlwind of power swirling and coalescing into the form of a being, taking shape as the air crackles with the promise of justice. And then her eyes focus, pushing back the pain that burns through her arm, looking at who has just arrived clearly.

“Jaesa,” she whispers.

Reus’s red eyes flash. “The apprentice? From her reaction over the holo, I’d have thought Gimrizh gave enough of a damn about her sister to come herself. Not send a two bit apprentice in her stead.”

“I’m uncertain as to where Baras acquired such an in depth view into our lives,” Jaesa declares, striding confidently forward. She looks at Vette and suddenly Vette’s sure that everything will be alright. “But you need to update your information. You’ve hurt my love and I’ll make you pay for it.”

Vette grins, her own anger reflected tenfold in Jaesa’s eyes, “Fuck him up, babe.”

Red light and a hiss of a blade fill the hangar as Reus draws his weapon. “I’ve spent every day of my life since I was _fifteen_ training to kill Gimrizh. You’re just her apprentice. I’d like to see you _try_.”

Jaesa flings her arm out - a blast of wind rushes past Vette’s face in the blink of an eye and catches Reus, throwing him backwards by a good twenty feet. It’s not enough to down him, he leaps to his feet and slashes his lightsaber into the durasteel ground. Metal screeches, the noise ringing in Vette’s ears. Reus rips two sections of the floor up and launches them at Jaesa like they’re blaster bolts.

There’s a flash of yellow light - Jaesa ignites her saberstaff and whirls it in her hands, turning the metal plates into harmless scrap that falls at her feet.

The two collide in the middle of the hangar, Jaesa a bright shield of golden light as Reus tries to smash her down. Fuck, it takes Vette’s breath away. It’s been a long time since she’s seen a fight like this - she can’t remember _ever_ seeing Jaesa so - so angry.

On the floor, in front of Vette, is the knife that Reus used on her. It’s still splattered with her blood, but it’s sharp and the energy field around the blade is still running. She tugs her feet out from underneath her, slowly, making sure she doesn’t twist her ankles. When she’s sure there’s enough slack on the chains he’s use to tie her down, she awkwardly sort of hops up and throws her bound feet on top of the knife.

That’s step one - fuck it’s been awhile since she’s had to do this.

Jaesa drops to a knee while the red lightsaber of Reus descends upon her head - “Watch out!”

Just in the time, Vette’s love rolls to the side and brings up a wall of bent metal to stall the blade, using that time to flip onto her feet and lunge forward, plunging her saberstaff straight at Reus’s heart. It’s blocked - sparks fly between the two as their lightsabers connect again and again, each strike more ferocious than the one before it.

Knife between her boots, Vette maneuvers it until it’s pinned between the floor and the lock on these fucking ankle cuffs. She lifts her foot and slams her heel into the butt of the knife, driving it through the lock and breaking her bonds. The cuffs fall to the side, one still attached to her right ankle, but it’s not hobbling her or chaining her to the floor anymore and that’s what counts. She stands, wobbling on her feet as pain wells up in her arm and makes her head spin.

White, purple, _blinding_ light flashes through the hangar as Reus brings out the lightning. He crafts it into lances, throwing them at Jaesa wildly - to no avail, she just catches them in the palm of her hand and redirects them harmlessly towards the ground where they blow up nothing more than a few stray supply crates.

A grin spreads across Vette’s face - Jaesa’s going to win. Determination is set in Jaesa’s eyes, undercut by a fury that powers her every strike. Fucking hells, Vette loves her.

Vette rolls her neck out. She relaxes her shoulders, forces her brain to ignore the pain in her arm. There’s not exactly a lot of stretching she can do in this position, but she tries to get any good cracks out of her shoulders as best she can.

She jumps. Tucks her knees to her chest, yanks her arms down and forward - the chain clears her feet - She lands with both arms still tied but in front of her. Usable.

“I’m fucking incredible,” she mutters.

Jaesa cries out for a split second as Reus’s lightsaber brushes across her cheek and then he’s thrown backwards by the force as her defensive reflexes kick in.

It morphs into a battle that Vette can only barely understand. Pure force - no lightsaber action because at least that makes some sort of sense. Lightning blossoms at Reus’s fingertips, massive amounts of electricity that make the hair on the back of Vette’s neck stand up just by being in the same _air_ as the storm. And Jaesa’s catching it. She’s not redirecting it, she’s catching it in her palm and neutralizing it.

Fucking hells Vette’s out of her depth with this shit.

She grabs the cloth bundle of absolutely creepy torture tools that Reus had been planning to use on her and unrolls it on the ground. “Jaesa!”

With a sweep of her arm, Jaesa sends the line of sharp metal devices straight towards her enemy. Eyes wide and off balance from the earlier hit, it’s all Reus can do to stop his face and torso being hit. His left arm gets pinned against the wall, blood soaking through his sleeve and dripping onto the ground.

“You’re finished,” Jaesa says, her voice unyielding as she strides confidently towards him, lightsaber in hand.

He lets his weapon drop to the ground in favor of using his right hand to yank the tools from the wall, tugging out blood and stuff Vette doesn’t really wanna think about at the same time. “I’m not dead yet,” he grits out, reaching out for his lightsaber.

Before it can reach his grip, Jaesa’s leapt forward in a burst of speed, as if the wind itself is on her side. She points her blade towards his throat, her hand unwavering, her gaze still as ice. “I am not in the habit of executing my foes. Unlike you, I do not consider violence to be the only solution. I will offer you a chance at surrender. I believe that everyone has the capacity for change.”

That’s when the door gets busted down.

“Gim!” Vette grins at the newcomers and waves with her cuffed hands. There’s the boss, yep, and then Pierce, captain stuffy, and Lucian. Lucian? What’s he doing here? She shrugs - it doesn’t really matter. “Glad to see the cavalry could make it!”

Pierce circles the fight, that heavy blaster rifle of his trained on Reus while behind him, Lucian - bless him - has his own blaster out and ready. That’s it - they’ve won. Really, they’d won since the moment Jaesa arrived, but there’s no way that one Sith can beat all six of them - even if Vette’s still handcuffed. She allows a wave of relief to rush over her, and with it comes the lightheaded feeling of blood loss.

“Sit down,” Quinn says to her, pulling out a med kit and grabbing supplies.

She does. Her arm hurts like a bitch. She wriggles her bound wrists at him, “First thing’s first? Please?”

“Ah. Of course, my apologies.” He undoes the locking mechanism on the cuffs and they drop to the floor with a _clang_. Then comes the sharp smell of kolto as he carefully applies it to her injury. “I’m just applying a kolto wrap at the moment, but you _will_ need sutures.”

“Yeah sure I’ll get those done when there’s one less homicidal maniac in the room.”

“... That’s reasonable.”

Quinn wraps her arm up tightly in bandages - she knows that compression is supposed to be _good_ , but yikes she can barely feel her arm. Carefully, so as not to mess with what the captain’s doing, she leans down and rips the ankle cuff that’d been stuck around her right ankle. If anyone puts her in chains again she’s going to kick them where it hurts.

Across the hangar, Reus has been forced to his knees, Pierce’s boot pressing between his shoulder blades and Jaesa’s lightsaber at his head.

And the only thing Reus is looking at is Gimrizh. His red eyes are locked on her, burning with anger and satisfaction. She’s still standing by the door. She hasn’t moved - she’s shaking. Her arms are wrapped around herself and it’s almost like she’s barely standing upright and she’s staring, wide eyed and afraid, back at Reus. Vette looks at the two of them, the way they can’t break eye contact, and if it sounded less crazy she’d think that the two of them were talking to each other.

“Hiya, horns,” Reus says viciously, a bloodied smirk on his lips.

Gimrizh stumbles backwards.

“Leave my master alone,” Jaesa demands, “and answer my question.”

He lifts his head, hair falling in his narrowed eyes, and his gaze flickers from Gimrizh to Jaesa, just for a moment. “Very well,” he snarls, “I surrender.”

Jaesa calls his lightsaber to her hand. “This is no longer yours. You do not deserve a weapon - you have not proven yourself to be trusted with one. Change your ways, and I shall return it to you. Now swear that you shall never touch Vette again. I shall know if you are lying - and if you go back on your word and attempt to harm her in the future I shall do to you tenfold whatever you do to her.”

He doesn’t say anything right away. Pierce presses down with his boot just a bit more and then Reus finally, reluctantly, promises, “I swear. On the force - I swear that I will never touch Vette again.”

She lowers her lightsaber and then turns to Vette. “It’s your final call.”

“I - “ Vette scrunches up her mouth and tries to bite around her frown. “I’m not big on bloody revenge and all that. Besides - if he tries anything again I’ll be ready for him. And then I’ll be the one to fuck him up. He knows he can’t get me without getting _you_ \- “ she shoots Reus a particularly dirty look, “ - and I’d say he just learned that he can’t beat you. Yeah. I’d say we’re done here. I need a fucking nap.”

Pierce is scowling as he lets Reus up, clearly not pleased with the outcome. Whatever - he can join the bloody revenge club on his own time.

The Sith spits a mouthful of blood onto the floor at Jaesa’s feet. “Gimrizh trained you wrong. If you’re really a fucking Sith, you wouldn’t have shown me mercy. All your talk about capacity for change - that’s Jedi shit if I’ve ever heard it.”

“Brutality isn’t the only path for a Sith to walk,” Jaesa tells him as he limps off, “and the Jedi aren’t overly fond of change.”

Reus doesn’t respond, he just leaves.

Where’s Gimrizh?

She was standing in the door, but she’s gone. If she left before Reus - where is she? “What happened to Gimrizh?” Vette asks.

“She left about a minute ago,” Jaesa admits, “I didn’t look - but she was sort of… curled in on herself. Scared, and also strangely… empty? I don’t know. I didn’t use my abilities on her, but I’ll be able to tell if she gets back to her apartment safely or not.”

Everyone is safe then.

And then Vette’s stumbling forward into Jaesa’s arms, her love’s warmth wrapped around her, a blanket of safety and protection. Vette realizes she’s shaking. She didn’t realize - or maybe it’s Jaesa that’s trembling. Or both of them. Vette’s suddenly exhausted and the part of her brain that’s still mostly working reminds her how much adrenaline can suck.

“It’s okay love,” Jaesa murmurs, “I’ve got you.”

~*~

“I’ll take the speeder with Vette,” Mal says, still clearly in what Lucian likes to think of as ‘medic mode’. The unspoken half of his sentence is that Jaesa will be with them as well, given how protective Jaesa is acting right now. “If… presuming Lord Gimrizh took the speeder Jaesa used to get here -”

“That was her speeder, actually,” Jaesa chimes in, “It was in her garage, I just took it.”

Lucian tosses the keys back to Mal - it was his brother’s speeder to begin with, they just both knew that Lucian’s clearly the better pilot, particularly in situations like these. “Get Vette to a medcenter. Me and Lieutenant Pierce can just call a taxi or something - I’m assuming that we’re going to debrief at _Horizon_? It certainly seems like that’d be the appropriate course of action, after the uh… events of today.”

“Sounds about right to me,” Pierce agrees. He gives Vette a very light pat on the back as she’s guided out of the hangar bay by Jaesa. “Get that arm fixed up, kid.”

Vette’s grin is weak but still there as she throws a parting remark over her shoulder, “My legs are still fine enough to kick some ass.”

They troop out, Lucian and Pierce a ways behind the other three who are rushing towards the speeder and inevitable medbay. At least Vette will be taken care of. Lucian’s just glad that they managed to get here in time to help. Even with Jaesa so clearly on top of the situation, he would have hated himself if he’d just stood back and did nothing at all. He thinks back to the bit of Jaesa’s fight that he’d seen and a shiver runs up his spine at the memory of her immense power. If that’s what Sith throw around on the general, he really can’t blame Mal for falling for Gimrizh so intensely.

Lucian and Pierce wait to flag down a taxi, standing under an awning and out of the light rain that’s trickling down and soaking into the knees of Lucian’s trousers.

“That was some good flying earlier,” Pierce comments, taking a cigarra out of his pocket while they wait. He flicks a lighter open with one hand, cupping the other around the cigarra to make sure the flame catches in the damp weather. “Your brother’s good, but you’re better.”

“Ah, thanks?” Lucian feels a touch caught off guard by the remark. From what he’d heard from his brother, the lieutenant didn’t sound very pleasant. Frankly, Lucian had expected that he’d be disliked simply by the virtue of being Mal’s brother.

Pierce takes a puff from the cigarra, the smoke dragged down in the rain. “Seriously. You’re damn good. How’d you avoid the Kaas City patrols? You were going _way_ over the speed limit.”

“I’ve kinda got the routes that the police tend to use… uh… memorized?” Lucian admits, “Many misspent hours of my youth involved illegal swoop races, and knowing which routes to take for both maximum speed and minimal interference was crucial. That’s probably why Mal let me fly his speeder, honestly, we both know that I fly better in goo, in Kaas City, _and_ in a combat situation.”

Another puff of smoke curls into the air above them. A few taxis pull up and leave with their own passengers, people milling around them with bags and supply crates. Lucian shuffles a bit, moving awkwardly from one foot to the other as he waits for the lieutenant to say anything in reply.

“Any good with a blaster?” Pierce asks.

Lucian stops shuffling. “Sure? I mean, I’ve got standard training, and me and Mal both learned a bit from our dad - he was a fucking great shot.”

“We should get together sometime, meet up at a blaster ranger,” the lieutenant suggests. “You can always do with a bit of practice and I’d like to see you shoot. Color me curious.”

“Alright. I’m not against the idea. You got a place or a time in mind?”

“I’ll comm you. Set something up. I know a few good places that don’t get too busy - I’m not a fan of shooting in the same ranges as a bunch of green ensigns.”

“Can’t argue that.”

A taxi finally slows to a stop in front of them. At a tiny spaceport like this one, it’s no wonder that transit takes a while to flag down. “Come on,” Pierce waves him towards the speeder, “Let’s get back to Lord Gimrizh’s apartment and I’ll write down my holo frequency for you.”

~*~

Malavai finishes applying the final suture to Vette’s arm. As horrible as it is to say, it’s lucky that Reus was as good at this as he was. The cuts are clean, neatly made. It makes it easier for him to fix up the damage. What can’t be healed straight away by kolto will mend quickly after a few days and then the sutures will just dissolve into Vette’s skin - he’d double checked a holotext to make sure that the principle is the same in Twi’leks as well as humans.

“How are you feeling?” Jaesa asks, for the third time.

Vette moves her shoulder around slightly before Malavai stops her - she shouldn’t risk opening her wounds like that, even if she can’t feel it while on painkillers. “Good as new. Sore, but, you know. Alright.”

“And emotionally?”

“Babe, please. I’m fine.”

The medbay feels suddenly cramped. Malavai clears his throat and hands a roll of bandages along with some undiluted kolto to Jaesa, “Make sure to change the wrapping frequently. And Vette, _please_ refrain from straining your arm and reopening the injury. It could cause scarring and will certainly slow down your recovery process.”

“Yeah sure,” she quickly agrees, “I’ll try not to undo your work, okay? Besides, it hurt like a bitch the first time. I’m not keen on feeling that again.”

Jaesa clutches at Vette’s hand and Malavai turns around, pretending not to see. “Thank you for taking care of her,” Jaesa says, with such earnest appreciation that it almost makes him flinch away. He doesn’t, only because that’s certain to catch Jaesa’s attention in a manner that would run counter to Gimrizh’s desire for secrecy. “I only wish I could have made your job easier by arriving sooner than I did.”

“You arrived in the nick of time,” Vette reassures her.

There’s a much welcome knock on the door and Lucian sticks his head into the medbay. “Hey, we’re back.” He waves to Vette, “How’re you?”

“Tired of being asked that question,” she replies with a laugh. “Nah, I’m good.”

“Have any of you seen Lord Gimrizh?” he asks, “I know she’s here, we saw her speeder bike in the hangar bay. Me and Pierce just walked past it.”

“Oh,” Jaesa coughs and then slowly adds, “She’s… on board. I can sense her here, but she’s… not replying to me. I think she wants to be left alone.”

Gimrizh is on the bridge. Malavai doesn’t need to check there to know. It’s a comforting place for her, where she’d go when woken in the night by unpleasant dreams or after a bad day of work, or even just to clear her mind during long trips through hyperspace. There’s no other place she _could_ be on _Horizon_. Jaesa’s right though. Right now, Gimrizh probably has no desire to speak to anyone else. A few months ago he might have been daring enough to check on her, bring her a mug of caf, but now…

Now he’s pretty sure she might very well choke him if he tried. Not that he doesn’t deserve it, because he _does_ , but he can’t fix what he’s done if he’s dead.

Lucian scratches his head, “That’s… unlucky. Someone’s waiting outside to see her.”

“Tell them that Lord Gimrizh is unavailable,” Malavai tells him. Whoever this person is, they have horrible timing.

Nodding, Lucian ducks out again and heads towards the main exit, brushing past Pierce, who’s carrying a stack of supply crates outside. Given that their stay on Drumond Kaas doesn’t seem to have a set end date, Malavai can’t really blame the lieutenant for moving his things off the ship.

“Do you think the boss is worried about Reus?” Vette asks, poking at her bandages. “She’s been so… out of it lately that it’s hard to tell what are new problems and what are just old problems.”

Jaesa pauses in the middle of packing up the medical supplies. “I think she would be - he’s not a threat anymore, but he must have surprised her. That said, it’s clear that we can deal with him. What harm can he do now that he knows he’s no match for any of us? Force, I wish she’d tell us more about who he is and why he hates her. At least then it’d be easier for us to understand what his motivations were.”

“I got a summary from the asshole himself,” Vette replies with a shrug. “I don’t think we’re going to get more than that.”

“Yes, my master explained some it to us, but not a lot. There’s a lot of missing pieces.”

Malavai keeps quiet. It’s not his place to comment on Gimrizh’s past. If she hasn’t told the rest of them, then it’s for a good reason.

“About that,” Vette asks slowly, “who _is_ Yaina? Reus mentioned her a few times but...”

Jaesa shakes her head, “I wish I knew. That name was spoken in front of us as well - not that my master mentioned who such a person is. It’s a mystery to me.”

Why, after all this time, is Malavai still the only person Gimrizh has told about her dead sister? Surely she would have opened up to someone else. It can’t just be him. They weren’t even particularly close when she told him, he’d thought that back then her relationship with Vette was stronger. Did she care about him - even back then? No, of course not, he shouldn’t entertain such a ridiculous and self-serving thought.

“I’d recommend against asking Lord Gimrizh at this time.” It comes out stiffer than he’d intended, and he hopes that Jaesa doesn’t catch on to the fact that he knows more than he’s saying.

Vette snorts in barely contained laughter. “Yeah. No fucking shit.”

She cuts off at the sound of boots on the metal deck and Lucian’s pained voice.

“My lord? Please, you’re not- Lord Gimrizh isn’t seeing anyone-”

“She’ll see me,” an unfamiliar voice snaps, the footfalls maintaining their steady pace. “Both of you, step aside.”

Malavai quickly leaves the medbay. Whoever this person is, they clearly can’t take no for an answer. Behind him, Jaesa helps Vette get up so that she can presumably see what’s going on for herself.

In _Horizon_ ’s communications room, both Pierce and Lucian are blocking the way of a Sith woman that’s Malavai’s never seen before. She’s human, and carrying a well used lightsaber on her hip, but he has no idea who, precisely, she is. Annoyance sits heavily on her face as she glares at them.

That disdainful look combined with the way Pierce is staring down at her doesn’t exactly bode well for avoiding confrontation.

“Pardon me, my lord,” Malavai says, stepping up to the woman, “but as you’ve been told, Lord Gimrizh isn’t available. We can inform her that you’re seeking an audience and I’m sure she will try to make time to speak with you. Apart from that, I must ask you to leave.”

“As I said - she’ll see _me_.”

The woman raises her hand and flicks it at Pierce as if casually swatting a particularly irksome kirik fly. It might as well have been a punch to the chest given how Pierce doubles over and is thrown to the side. On instinct, Malavai goes for his blaster, his hand just barely brushing over the grip - Lucian shifts, moving in front of Pierce - Jaesa too takes a sharp step closer, a _click_ as she pulls her lightsaber away from her belt -

The bridge door slides open.

Gimrizh stands in the hatchway, bloodshot eyes and splotchy red on her nose. “Eskella,” she greets, her voice flatter than that of a droid. “Do not touch my crew.”

The woman - Eskella - crosses her arms sternly. “Korribanil. We need to talk.”

As the silence drags on, Malavai’s certainty that this will come to blows only escalates. Pierce has been helped back to his feet by Lucian, a blaster in hand, and the rest of them, save Vette, are ready to engage the Sith before she could so much as scratch Gimrizh. He hates that Eskella is such an unknown to them, they have no idea what she’s capable of. To add, Jaesa and Vette both just came out of one conflict and surely aren’t exactly ready for another one in much closer quarters.

Then Gimrizh sighs. “I guess you already spoke to your father?”

“Oh I _did_ ,” Eskella says, bitterness seeping into a sneer. “He didn’t make for pleasant conversation, but I’m sure you’ll be relieved to know that my argument with _you_ is far simpler than mine with _him_.” She gestures to the crew, “Would you prefer to do this out here, or would you like it if I didn’t tell them all what you’ve done?”

Gimrizh’s gold eyes are unfocused, pained and distant. She hangs her head and stands aside, letting Eskella enter the bridge. “Come in.”

The two Sith vanish behind the door.

“Is Lord Gimrizh safe with such a person?” Malavai wonders, his fingers still tightly wrapped around his blaster. Given how quick and unabashedly Eskella was to resort to violence against Pierce, and how it’s clear that she and Gimrizh are hardly on the best of terms, he could easily see her trying something without anyone around to watch Gimrizh’s back. Stars, he’s still confused as to why Gimrizh accepted a meeting with Eskella at all. Was it just because Pierce had been attacked?

Lucian looks nervously at the closed door. “I’m not sure. That Sith - Eskella - she seemed pretty… intense.”

“That’s one word for it,” Pierce mutters.

Vette puts her finger against her lips and leans against the door. “If you want to know when a fight happens, shut up and listen in.”

To Malavai’s horror, she grabs his arm and drags him over as well. Doesn’t she know that Gimrizh will find out if they try and listen? “Eavesdropping on Lord Gimrizh hardly seems appropriate - “

“Oh you’re _sorry_?” Eskella’s voice comes through loud and clear, without them even trying to hear what’s being said. The bridge has sound dampeners, Malavai _knows_ it does, but it seems that whatever argument they’re having couldn’t wait. Or Gimrizh doesn’t care if they overhear whatever accusations Eskella has against her. “You _should_ be sorry,” Eskella continues, “You have no idea how greatly you and my father have complicated my life, how much I _personally_ have been through as a result of your frankly _treasonous_ activities.”

At that, Lucian looks mortified and puts his head in his hands. Whatever incident this woman is talking about, Malavai hopes she doesn’t know the worst of it.

“I shouldn’t have done that to you,” Gimrizh says, quieter than her fellow Sith yet still crystal clear. “I _am_ sorry. I… I panicked. I didn’t know what to do and I needed to avoid a confrontation with you, and in my desperation I made a horrible decision. That doesn’t excuse what I did - but I am sorry.”

“You’re a danger to the Empire. I know Institute rollouts like you - foolhardy, aggressive, _stupid_ with no understanding that your actions have consequences - so quick to think with your lightsaber.”

Gimrizh says something too quiet for them to hear, making Vette press her head against the door to hear better. How rude.

“Damn straight I’m right!” Eskella’s loud tone makes Malavai jump. Did Gimrizh confess to something - no, she wouldn’t. “What you did to me - don’t expect me to keep quiet about this. I intend to publish this information, to complete my thesis work on how much of a fuck up the Institute System and the Sith it churns out are. You and my father - both of you will pay for your actions.”

If they all overpower Eskella at once - Malavai crushes that thought. As much as it is his duty - _their_ duty - to protect their lord and her secrets, it’s ultimately Gimrizh’s decision as to what she wishes to make public. Besides, when he thinks about it, Gimrizh _is_ now the Emperor’s Wrath. A scandal might not be enough to remove her from power. Something larger, perhaps, but the decision will likely remain that if the Emperor appointed her, her past crimes are pardoned. If only Malavai knew what exactly Eskella is threatening her with.

Gimrizh is calm, almost regretful. “I did what I did to you in order to disobey the commands of Darth Baras - now a known traitor. That might not help your work.”

“Baras is…?”

“Yes. And furthermore - I’m the Emperor’s Wrath now -”

Something crashes on the bridge, precisely the sound of Eskella throwing a datapad against a wall.

“Wow.” The rage in her voice is clear. “You just keep getting and getting huh? You lucky, fucking, ungrateful - You and the system you came from should not be untouchable. You should be rightfully punished for what you did - for what was tantamount to treason - not _promoted_ to one of the highest fucking positions in the Empire.”

“You’re not wrong,” Gimrizh replies, barely audible and yet it feels like a slap across the face to Malavai.

“Oh thank you _ever so much_ for acknowledging that. What the hell do you propose to fix what you’ve done? I think you’re a danger to the Empire - on a personal level, you’ve ruined my thesis, you’ve ruined my chance of getting a decent job thanks in part to my father - and don’t think I’ve let him off the hook, he’s done worse. Or should I just expose you anyway and hope someone in the Empire decides to finish you off?”

Pierce lifts up his blaster with a shrug and whispers, “I guess that’s our cue -”

“Work for me.”

“What?” Vette gasps.

Eskella must be just as surprised, because there’s a solid minute of silence from the bridge before she finally speaks up. “Excuse me? Why in the hells would I want to work for you - you ruined my life.”

“You said I’ve ruined your chances of getting a good job,” Gimrizh calmly explains as if her decision makes sense and isn’t causing Malavai’s head to spin. “One year working for the Emperor’s Wrath and you’ll be able to get any position in the Empire. It’s not charity - I don’t think you’d accept that. It’s just a business proposition.”

“Working for you would compromise my ability to ever get my thesis off the ground.”

“I grew up in Institute Five.” Gimrizh says that sentence as if admitting a terrible secret, one never spoken of before now. “You want to burn it down? I’m right behind you. I can give you whatever information you want - and I’m sure that given my position I’ll be considered a reliable source.”

“So what,” Eskella asks, incredulous, “now you suddenly want to help me?”

“Because you’re right - I am a threat. That’s the other bonus. Work for me, and if you ever think that I’m a danger to the Empire, if something I do steps into the realm of treason - you can be there to put a lightsaber in my head. Tell me why I’m a threat and I won’t stop you.”

What is Gimrizh _doing_? Eskella couldn’t be a more obvious danger to her if the woman were actively swinging a lightsaber, and Gimrizh _has_ to see that. She’s a survivor, there’s no way she would miss a threat of such magnitude. But to offer Eskella a _job_? Malavai’s not even certain if Gimrizh should reasonably let Eskella leave the ship without an assurance of silence, let alone a krething job.

“So what, exactly, would I be doing for you?” Oh _fuck_ , it sounds as though Eskella is actually, sincerely _considering_ the position.

“I need help managing my new responsibilities as Wrath. The announcement hasn’t been officially made yet, but once it does, I’m certain that I’ll be bogged down in paperwork and briefings and - well, I’ll need help. I don’t have anyone on my crew that I could ask to assist with such a task.”

Not anymore, Malavai supposes. That used to be one of his responsibilities.

“You want a secretary,” Eskella flatly confirms.

“I suppose, yes.”

“... Alright. I’ll do it. The pay had better be damn good though. And I want the best fucking letter of recommendation that you can write. I have no intention of working for you for more than a year.”

“Done. I’ll comm you with more information. Now I suggest you leave my ship before my crew decides to shoot you.”

The door slides open. Eskella doesn’t so much as look at them before she quickly stalks off _Horizon_.

This idea is almost certainly going to backfire. Giving Eskella such control over - of _course_ she’s going to use it to make Gimrizh’s life miserable! How does Gimrizh not see that? She _has_ to - does she just not care? Malavai can’t believe that she actually thinks this is a good idea, surely she has some other plan up her sleeve - and yet it doesn’t look like that’s the case. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that she _wants_ Eskella to hurt her.

“Is it just me…” Vette suggests, “or did Gimrizh hire her _because_ Eskella hates her with a burning passion? Not… despite, but _because_?”

That can’t be right. And yet, Malavai finds himself struggling to deny the truth of Vette’s words. If that’s true, and Gimrizh _wants_ someone who despises her to have such power over her life, if she wants someone actively making her suffer - What’s Malavai thinking? Gimrizh is, above all else, a survivor, out of fear and spite when not out of determination. Nothing could have changed that. What he did to her - oh, he’s not trying to minimize it, never that, but it wouldn’t have changed her this much.

Although Eskella wouldn’t kill Gimrizh. Frankly, Malavai doubts that the Sith _could_. From their confrontation, it seemed more likely that if Eskella chose to pursue a course of action against Gimrizh, it would be through the legal channels. So if she isn’t going to _kill_ Gimrizh, only _sabotage_ her, that might be something that Gimrizh considers acceptable. A worthwhile risk for whatever else Gimrizh needs Eskella for.

Lucian leans against the wall, pressing his forehead to the durasteel. “I’m not even going to try and figure out what’s going on. If it’s Sith business, it’s not _my_ business.”

“Can’t argue that,” Pierce replies.

“So…” Vette continues, hesitantly, “What do we do now? Do we try and get the scoop on Eskella or…?”

Whatever Eskella knows about Gimrizh must remain hidden. If Gimrizh wanted the crew to know, she would have informed them by now, and frankly, given how Eskella was determined that this information could ruin Gimrizh, it’s likely treasonous. As much as Malavai hates to say it, Gimrizh has certainly stepped into that realm before. She committed treason - he’s still coming to terms with that. If Eskella is aware of even part of that, he isn’t sure what would happen should the crew find out.

“You’re not going to do anything besides sit and rest,” Malavai informs Vette. “Do not go digging for information until Lord Gimrizh requests it. I’ll speak with her and inquire as to what our next move should be, regarding both Eskella and Reus.”

Vette snorts, “Good luck with that.”

Once he closes the bridge door behind him, he makes sure to flip open the control panel and turn on the sound dampeners.

“I assume you all heard that,” Gimrizh says quietly.

She’s sitting in the helmsman’s chair, her knees against her chest. Memories twist harder than a vibroblade in Malavai’s chest - he can remember her looking just the same when he’d wake up in the middle of the night to find her here after a nightmare. If it were a month ago, he’d drape his jacket over her shoulders and try to coax her back to bed. There’s no one to do that for her now, to help her calm down from a panic attack, to stay awake with her until she falls back asleep.

What did she do before she met him? What older methods did she have to cope, to help herself? So many things he doesn’t know about her, and now he’ll never get the chance to ask. Her durability never ceases to surprise him, he’s sure she had something to make her most persistent of nightmares sting less, but every time he’s seen her since Corellia she’s looked more exhausted than she has in a year. Stress from her new position, probably.

He’s so dragged down by his thoughts that he doesn’t notice her question he’s failed to answer until her glare sharpens and she barks out a short, “Well?”

“I apologize, my lord. It wasn’t our intent. Lord Eskella was rather… emphatic.” He hurries to bow, the formality between them feeling colder than it had when he first stepped foot on _Horizon_. They are worse than strangers now. He hopes that she doesn’t care to think of him, returning to how it was in the early days, when he was nothing more than an asset for her to use. It’s far better that way.

“Whatever,” Gimrizh replies, turning her head away to instead stare off at the viewport, now covered with durasteel blast shields. “It doesn’t matter, she didn’t reveal anything sensitive beyond how much she despises me.”

“Regarding the information she threatened you with - I told Vette not to go digging, would you like me to rescind that order or stand by it?”

“... I don’t want the crew to know. Eskella is Tremel’s daughter. She confronted me after I faked his death and I… I rendered her unconscious and used her as a decoy to break Quorian Dorjis out of prison.” Her voice cracks and she fakes a cough to cover it. “I regret it. It was a snap decision, poorly made, and I - well, I regret a great deal from back then. Her anger towards me is well-deserved.”

It is fortunate then, that Eskella never actually stated her grievances where the crew could overhear.

“Does Lord Eskella have proof?” he asks. It’ll be difficult to relieve the Sith of any evidence without the rest of the crew’s assistance. He’s a decent slicer, but Vette’s better than him, although he hates to admit it.

Gimrizh shakes her head. “I doubt it. If she did, I honestly think she would have done something with it by now.”

“That does make sense, given how she approached you. Was your job offer to her in good faith?”

“Yes - I owe her.”

So there isn’t some other plan up her sleeve. Malavai opens his mouth with the intent to ask her about the threat Eskella poses and instead - “And Reus? Do you have any orders regarding him? It’s highly likely he’ll make another appearance, although it doesn’t seem as though he will be able to target Vette again. We should consider a strategy to eliminate -”

“Leave him.”

That doesn’t - that makes no sense - “My lord, with all due respect, Reus presents a very serious danger to your personal safety, he won’t be deterred by Jaesa for long and you are the only one here who has a solid grasp of his personality and could predict his next move.”

Gimrizh shrinks in on herself. “I said - leave him.”

Part of him wants to challenge that anyways, because it’s just so nonsensical, but he won’t. He can’t do that, not right now. Maybe not ever again. “As you wish, my lord. My apologies. What would you like me to tell the crew?”

“I’m sure you can come up with something,” she says bitterly, as if trying to plunge her lightsaber through his chest with only her words. “I hear you’re quite a skilled liar.”

~*~

It’s been a long day.

Lucian isn’t used that, he’s not used to particular sort of stress and chaos and panic that Sith can cause so easily. Military panic, with it’s rules and procedures, with the sort of predictable nature of Republic fighters - that he’s used to. That’s no trouble at all for him to handle. He needs a good middle ground, enough excitement to keep the job interesting without the sheer difference in skill that makes him so out of his depth in Sith power struggles.

That said, he’s got one more stop before he can head home and pass out for the day. The sun’s slowly being dragged down across the sky as he takes a quick, in-goo transit ship from Kaas City to Jongaib, the largest continent on the planet.

A taxi drops him off at the military hospital here - not as prestigious or as well stocked as those in Kaas City, but he supposes that Ille wouldn’t be transferred anywhere like that. This is as good as Ovech can get him.

That and a security pass allowing Lucian to be up here for the day.

Lucian only has to sit around waiting for a half hour or so before Ille’s transport arrives.

The military medical transports are bulky grey people-carrier ships, the green _K_ symbol emblazoned on the hull marking it as a medical unit. Wind pushes against him as the ship touches down on the hospital’s landing pad. Since this is a non-emergency vehicle, there’s no real rush as medics remove two patients in beds, both unconscious and completely unaware of hovering above the ground while pushed towards the hospital entrance.

Then his breath catches in his throat as he sees the blue tinge of Ille’s skin under stiff white sheets.

Slowly, as if walking through water, he makes his way towards his sleeping friend. He absently shows the medic his security pass as he approaches. She lets him through and then he’s looking down at Ille.

His first irrational thought is that Ille is dead - he’s so still as he lies there, as if frozen. Then Lucian looks closer and sees the gradual rise and fall of Ille’s chest, the slight flickering of his eyelids as though he’s dreaming. A kolto drip is attached to Ille’s arm, steadily trickling green liquid into his veins.

“How is he?” Lucian asks the medic, not looking up from Ille.

She checks the holo readout on the bed. “Physically, he’s fine. Most of the brain trauma was high priority and fixed first. Now there’s just some bumps and scrapes that need to heal, and he has to sleep off the kolto.”

Thank the stars. Ovech had made it sound so much worse - well, the Moff is no medic. “When do you think he’ll wake up?”

“It’s hard to say. Everyone has different recovery times. Probably in the next few days or so. There’s no cause for worry unless it takes him another week.”

“You mean there’s still something that could go wrong?”

“He suffered brain trauma - there will be potentially many things that could go wrong. As I said, no need to worry for the next few days.”

Lucian reaches out and wraps his fingers around Ille’s hand. That faint pulse is more reassuring than the medic’s words.

~*~

Jaesa sticks her head around the corner, “Babe? Dinner’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

“Thanks.” Vette looks up to grin at her girlfriend. “I’ll be done in a sec. Just give me a little longer.”

She rolls out her shoulder as Jaesa disappears back into the kitchen. Everything still stings. It will heal though, and she’s been through worse. Far worse. Now she’s in a better place to deal with it. She doesn’t have just her bravado and an adopted sister to hide behind, she has Jaesa as well, and Sith funded healthcare which is nothing to snub her nose at. A good step up from whatever kolto a quick scam could buy.

It’s tempting to unwrap the bandages and see how her arm is coming along but she resists. Out of both common sense and the fact that it’d probably get her a very long lecture from captain stuffy that’d be so boring she would fall asleep mid-rant.

Instead she directs her attention back to the screen that’s been plaguing her for almost an hour now.

Slicing the holofeed from the Dark Council chambers had been quick work. Picking the right holonet site to post the video had also been easy. But the editing…

Frankly, she’s not sure if she should do as Gimrizh asked. At first she’d thought that there must be some plan up the boss’s sleeve, something that would justify editing the footage in a manner that would certainly piss off over half the Empire. Something that would explain it. Selfishly, she was hoping for something that would reassure Vette so that she could think Gimrizh is alright and stop worrying.

And then Eskella entered the picture.

There’s no plan, no strategy, Gimrizh is just being a self-loathing idiot. Vette is willing to bet cold hard cash that whatever happened to Quinn - whatever was bad enough to result in him losing his hand - it was at least partially Gimrizh’s fault. Cause this? This bullshit that Gimrizh is pulling is not only intentionally self-destructive, it’s based in guilt.

Gimrizh, for whatever stupid reason, is trying to punish herself. And Vette’s not going to let herself be an accomplice to that stupid plan.

Vette’s never suspected Gimrizh of having a death wish, but if she actually tries and goes through with this plan, her death is pretty fucking likely. Some staunch Imperialist who’s pissed off at an upstart Zabrak killing off Baras - they might try and take a shot. Eskella’s hardly going to take a blaster bolt for Gimrizh. And all Gimrizh has been doing is pushing everyone who gives a shit about her away - promoting Jaesa, snapping at Vette, apparently breaking up with Quinn even, if the way she’s been acting towards him lately says anything.

Fuck. That.

Vette grabs the raw holofeed, slaps a title on it, and then posts it to three different sites.

Let Gimrizh deal with her actions. Vette will have no part in this scheme. If Gimrizh wants to throw a guilt party and try to make the galaxy hate her - fine. Whatever. She can go do that with her own two hands.

Before she can regret her actions, she shuts her terminal down and goes into the kitchen.

The pleasant aroma of warm spices tickles her nose as she enters. It almost smells like _amurize_ , Ryloth hotpot stew. A combination of spicy chilis mixed with warm winter spices - nutmeg and Kaasian tsara root. Jaesa’s a miracle worker. It smells like the perfect thing on a rainy day.

“I’m done working, I promise. What did you make for…” Vette trails off.

Warm candlelight fills the small kitchen. There are candles. On the table. Small, pink wax candles. She stares at the two bowls that Jaesa is setting down.

“That’s _amurize_.”

Jaesa turns as pink as the candles and nods.

“You made me _amurize_.”

“I did.”

“The recipe… how did you…? Which family recipe did you…?”

“I called Taunt. She gave me her mother’s.”

Vette slowly walks towards the table, taking a deep breath. It wasn’t Kaasian tsara she had been smelling, it’s good hearty gensu, straight from Ryloth. Exactly what Taunt used to make after a job went well. She’d never asked her adopted sister for the recipe because - well - it’s a family thing. A family secret. Every mother makes it slightly different. Taunt always told Vette she could have it if she wanted - they’re basically family, the two of them - but it had always seemed so personal.

And Taunt gave it to Jaesa.

“Jaesa.” Vette blinks. “Why did you make me _amurize_?”

“I shouldn’t need a special occasion to make it for you, I should make it every day if you want me to,” Jaesa whispers. Her beautiful brown eyes are shining, a warm deepness in them that Vette can only describe as looking how gensu smells - almost smokey in its deepest notes - intoxicating. “You can be taken from me at any moment - we lead dangerous lives - we have enemies - it won’t always be safe. I should have done this ages ago. I shouldn’t have waited until now to cook your favorite food or - “

Vette steps closer and gently rests her hand on Jaesa’s cheek. “Hey now. We got through this just fine, didn’t we?”

“Yes - but what about the next time?”

“Then we will deal with the next time - and the time after that. That’s what we do. And we’re good at it. You don’t have to pamper me just for one bad day. You saved my ass.”

“But what if you had died today? And I never had one last chance to tell you how much I love you?”

“I would have died knowing that you love me.”

Jaesa smiles reverently at her. “I don’t want anymore regrets, my love.”

Vette’s hand drops from her cheek as -

Oh stars. Jaesa’s down on one knee. Jaesa’s down on one knee and she’s opening a small velvet box in her hands and it’s a ring and she’s smiling hesitantly up at Vette and her mouth is moving and -

“You want to marry me.” It comes out as barely a breath and Vette clears her throat, trying louder this time. “You really want to marry me.”

“With all my heart.”

“I - I - “ Vette’s speechless. ‘Yes’ doesn’t even seem to cover it, she can feel her love for Jaesa swell in her chest to the point of bursting. A simple yes seems so mundane, she should spell it out with kisses across Jaesa’s skin, she should be the one on her knees with a box begging for her love’s hand.

So she gets down on her knees as well and presses her forehead to Jaesa’s, pulling every feeling of love to the forefront of her mind, letting it fill her body and her thoughts.

She knows it works when Jaesa gasps. “Oh stars…”

“Yes,” Vette murmurs against her love’s lips. “A thousand times yes.”

Then her hands are in Jaesa’s hair and her love is in her arms, kissing her like Vette is air and she is drowning. Vette’s going to marry this woman. Vette’s going to marry her and they’re going to be together forever and they’re going to have both their names on the same tax form and maybe that’s a strange thing to think about about when she’s got her tongue in Jaesa’s mouth but _they’re going to be married_.

“Oh! The ring!” Jaesa pulls back an inch and holds up the box, “I have rings! One for you and one for me, they’re matching.”

“Right!”

Jaesa clears her throat and lifts a gold ring up from the box, “Vette, born Ce’na, daughter of Deck, will you do me the honor of agreeing to marry me?”

“Yes, Jaesa Willsaam, I will marry you.”

Cold metal kisses her skin as Jaesa slides the ring onto her finger. It’s a smooth gold band that fits her damn near perfectly, with a flat line of synth-opals inlaid on the top. It’s been so well made that Vette’s sure she could punch someone in the face and the ring wouldn’t so much as catch. Practical. Beautiful. Her girlfriend really does think of everything.

Her fiancee.

“It’s… it’s amazing,” Vette declares, holding the ring up to the light.

Jaesa reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small holo. “It’s a ring. And - I know you’ll want _lekkan’ar_ for your wedding.”

“We don’t - I know they’re difficult to make in the Empire -”

“We won’t make them,” Jaesa says, a touch of slyness entering her grin. She turns the tiny holo on and a colored image of two stunning gold _lekkan’ar_ floats in front of them. They’re fat rings, deep blue jewels dripping from the hoops and sparkling against the gold - a wedding accessory that would bankrupt a small planet. It’s more than that, something about the shape, the jewels, it stirs an old memory of Vette’s.

Deep, royal blue is the color for weddings, so it’s not the color of the stones, it’s the number of them and the pattern - “Are those - they’re the _lekkan’ar_ of Akar Hinil and his lover Shen? The folk heroes?”

Jaesa enthusiastically nods. “They’re being kept in a private collection on Geonosis. I figured we could… liberate them?”

“I’m going to steal my wedding _lekkan’ar_.”

“If you want to.”

“Babe, this is the most perfect way you could possibly have proposed. Of _course_ we are going to steal our wedding _lekkan’ar_.”

~*~

Foris strolls into a shooting range on the outskirts of Kaas City that he’s particularly partial to. It has a good caf maker in the office. He can get behind that.

At this time of the morning, there’s only one sleepy looking ensign manning the front desk.

“Morning,” he says cheerfully, “Range fourteen open?”

She nods, her fingers moving across the terminal keyboard at a glacial pace. “Uh-huh. Go right on in. Some navy guy is in there now but apart from that it’s empty.”

“That’s alright. Navy guy’s expected.”

“Uh-huh.”

As Foris had hoped, Lucian is waiting for him in range fourteen, leaning over the divider wall and looking surprisingly awake for six in the morning. There’s a take out mug of tea steaming in his hand and he’s nervously fluffing up his hair, which Foris notes is much longer than regulation length for pilots.

“Morning,” Lucian greets with a grin.

Foris returns the gesture and drops his bag onto the stand, withdrawing the case he keeps his hand blaster in and ammo packs. “Ready to shoot?”

“Sure, but honestly, I’m still not sure why you’re interested.”

He steps aside as Lucian calmly loads his blaster and takes his stance, posture textbook perfect as he aims at the targets across the room. Oh yeah, Foris can see the similarities between Lucian and his brother now. By the book, although he’s hoping to shake a bit of that out of the pilot.

“Shoot,” Foris tells him.

Lucian does so.

The blaster bolt pegs a target in the center of the dummy’s forehead. He’s got steady hands, Foris will give him that.

“How good are you ranged?” he asks, wondering if renting a rifle for the hour would be worth his time.

A second shot from Lucian hits the target’s heart. “Not as good. I mean, not terrible, but not great - and that’s not modesty talking. I’m better at close range.”

“You do drills? Regular practice?”

“Yeah. Not a lot though. Do more in my fighter.”

“Would you be down for more frequent practice out of an ISF?”

“Sure - okay seriously, what’s up?”

Foris shrugs and scratches the back of his head. Maybe he should start growing his hair out as well. It’d be more comfortable at any rate. Not like a Sith would give a shit about regulation hairstyles - Lorant might, though. She can be a real hardass. “You’re a damn good pilot. I’m scouting you.”

“Scouting -” Lucian gapes. “But you’re army. I’m navy. How could you be scouting me?”

Yeah that might be a bit tricky. “Find me the officer that’s willing to tell the Emperor’s Wrath ‘no’. I can’t see how it’ll be a problem. If you take my offer, that is. You don’t have to.”

Lucian lowers his blaster, staring at his hands as he grips the stock. “I’m not going to abandon Ille - my wingman.”

That’s not a problem either. Honestly, it’s kind of lucky, Foris was told to find one if not two new members for Black Ops Seven - an extra find is welcome. “If he’s good, I’m sure it’ll work out for him to join as well. We’re short on members. Can’t see how another person would be turned away.”

“Alright,” Lucian slowly nods. “I’ll think about it.”

“Good. Now, about your aim -”

Lucian holds up a hand, “Wait! You haven’t even explained _what_ you’re scouting me _for_!”

~*~

An unmarked supply ship makes the jump to hyperspace just outside the Dromund System.

Reus huddles behind a crate in the ship’s hold, nursing his wounds. Since he has no ticket on him and no desire to pay passage through work, he’d simply stowed away. Whatever sway he might have held as Baras’s apprentice is long gone since he’s sure Gimrizh will have flagged his ID by now. If he tried to use his real identity to get off world, he’d have been picked up by the military police within minutes.

If he still had a lightsaber, he might be willing to push that. Now, he’s unarmed and practically a fugitive from the Empire.

Gimrizh becoming the new Wrath had been unexpected.

It means he’ll have difficulty attacking her when she in Imperial space - any potential bodyguards or good samaritans would complicate things unnecessarily. Fortunately, he imagines her new position will necessitate frequent travel. It shouldn’t be too difficult waiting for her to leave the safety of the Empire and wind up in a dangerous part of the galaxy.

And what’s more, he still has Baras’s dossier on her. He still knows exactly where her weak points are and he knows how to hit them.

Patience will be key. He’s already waited years to get his revenge. What’s a few more months?

~*~

Gimrizh steps out of a taxi onto the rain-slick Citadel landing.

Her problems are only compounding. First Reus and then Eskella - and somehow one of the worst things for her to think about isn’t either of them but the fact that she had so willingly told Malavai about what she did to Eskella. She hadn’t even thought about it much. She’d just told him. It had felt natural, an old and comforting habit for her to slip into and in that mistake she’d told a known traitor another one of her deepest secrets.

It had been a stupid mistake. She can’t trust him. She _hates_ him. She should have thrown him from the bridge the moment he tried to speak with her.

Just as she should have killed Reus when he tried to kill Vette.

Logically, she shouldn’t have let him live. She let an enemy walk away from her - one that she’s certain won’t stop just after a solid beat down from Jaesa. She just doesn’t want to think about him. She doesn’t want to have to _deal_ with him. Let someone else finish him off, let someone who isn’t a coward like herself strike the killing blow.

Even Eskella she could barely talk to. It’s as though her mind and soul have filled to the brink and when she tries to add to it - she breaks down.

A Sith wandering through the Sanctum stops and stares at her.

She flinches from his gaze, bringing her hood up to hide her face and hurrying towards the elevators with her head down.

Vowrawn’s offices are on one of the highest floors of the Sanctum.

One of his aids glances up at her as she enters the office complex before scurrying out of her way and letting her pass. Is she just imagining it, or is there something about her that’s attracting attention today?

She knocks on Vowrawn’s door.

“Enter!”

His office is not what she expected. Of course, she’s not sure _what_ exactly she did expected, but it wouldn’t have been this. Two plush chairs, more suited for a cozy sitting room than an office, rest in front of a warm wood desk. A massive floor to ceiling window dapples the room in the cool colors of Kaas City. Shelves line the walls, filled to a cluttered brim with holocrons, stacks of datapads, crystals, spare lightpens, endless piles of flimsy - seemingly with no organizational system behind it.

And Vowrawn isn’t alone.

The towering form of Darth Marr is the first figure Gimrizh sees as she steps inside, and Vowrawn sitting casually behind his desk barely even registers.

“My lords,” she hastily greets, bowing to the both of them.

Vowrawn gestures to the chair across from him, “My dear Wrath! Please, take a seat.”

Automatically obeying the order, she does. The chair is so soft and squishy that she must sink a solid ten inches into the cushions. Vowrawn uses the force to pull a teacup and a steaming pot towards them. Without touching anything, he pours her a cup, adding two lumps of sugar and a squeeze of Mandalorian citron before pushing the cup towards her.

“Oh.” She looks down at the cup. “Thank you?”

“We have business to attend to,” Marr reminds his fellow councilor, exasperation tinging his voice even behind the mask covering his features.

Vowrawn waves his hand dismissively, “Yes, yes, no need for rush. We’re here to discuss Baras’s replacement on the Council.”

“With all due respect,” Gimrizh chimes in, “I don’t see why I’m needed for this. I’m _not_ on the Council, I don’t have a say in this matter. I might be his apprentice, but I won’t take his seat.” Oh no, she’s not Baras’s _last_ apprentice. There’s still Reus - no, there’s no way he could become a counselor. It’s simply not possible. She shouldn’t think of that. Besides, he’s certainly underground after what Jaesa did to him.

Marr crosses his arms across his chest, a terrifying image as the metal of his armor only accentuates his muscles. “You couldn’t take Baras’s seat even if you wanted to. The position of Wrath might not directly correlate with the rank provided by Council membership, but given that your opinion in matters that concern the Emperor can override our judgement, allowing you to take Baras’s place would be akin to a demotion.”

That’s really a power she has now? That doesn’t - she can’t be trusted with that. “I see.”

“Besides, you don’t want our job, I promise,” Vowrawn adds. “The paperwork alone is dreadful. Your job is far more relaxing.”

Unless her ears deceive her, she swears Marr actually huffs at that.

“Anyways,” Vowrawn continues. “We were hoping for your input as to the candidate we have in mind. Given that you are the only person alive with the most intimate experience of our dear departed Baras’s operations, I thought it would be only polite to ask if you knew a good successor - one of his living apprentices, perhaps.”

“No,” she says quickly, as the thought of Reus ascending to a Council seat once again flashes painfully through her thoughts. “There’s no one.”

“Pity,” Vowrawn says in a way that makes it abundantly clear that he’s thrilled.

She takes a sip of the tea that he’s given her and then promptly sets it down. The flavor rolls over her tongue at a boiling temperature - further proof that Vowrawn isn’t all there. “Which candidate have you selected then?”

“Malgus.” Marr says the name of a revered war hero as though speaking of a casual acquaintance.

She can’t deny that Malgus is an excellent choice for the position. Stories of the Darth’s heroics during the Sacking of Coruscant were frequently shared during her years in Institute Five, half the class worshipped the ground he walked on, and Gimrizh is only slightly embarrassed to say that she was one of them. Giving him control of the Sphere of Military Offense seems to make perfect sense.

The two Councilors seem to be waiting for her input - she quickly snaps out of it and nods her head, “I think he’s the perfect candidate. As Baras’s former apprentice, I will make no effort to argue against the posting.”

“Wonderful,” Vowrawn agrees, before he reaches into a drawer and excitedly pulls out a datapad, “There is _one_ last order of business I wanted to discuss with you.”

“You shouldn’t treat this so lightly,” Marr admonishes, “This represents a serious security breach.”

“Yes, yes, that too.”

Gimrizh is lost. “Please explain?”

“Darth Baras’s removal and imprisonment was meant to be revealed after we had officially come to a consensus regarding his replacement.” It’s impossible to tell what Marr is thinking behind that mask. “Someone released the footage over the holonet.”

Excellent. Vette did her job. A satisfied hollowness curls up in Gimrizh’s chest. Now at least, the Empire will see her for what she really is. A traitor. A usurper. Someone dangerous, too dangerous to be allowed to serve with the powers given to the Emperor’s Wrath. Someone who needs to be removed.

Vowrawn turns the datapad for her to see. “I love the title.”

There, over the video, are the bright an unmistakable words. ‘New Emperor’s Wrath Removes Corrupt Councilor - Change on the Horizon?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> badum-tsh!  
> Let me know what you think in comments or drop a kudos my way, I survive off feedback. Or chat me up on my tumblr, @semper-draca


	34. ANNOUNCEMENT

*NOT A REAL CHAPTER*

As some of you may or may not know, Iustita is being re-written (mostly because there are SO many damn problems with it). The rewrite is going to be posted as 'Iniuria', and will be linked below as part of the 'Horizon' series. 

Please check it out if you're interested in the continuation of this fic :)

Rewrites will be relatively large. Things that I intend to handle in the rewrite:

 - Consistent villains as opposed to 'oh it's the jedi i mean draahg i mean baras i mean reus i mean the emperor i mean - ' 

 - The overwhelming prevalence of word-for-word game dialogue in the earlier chapters

 - Inconsistent characterization, again particularly in earlier chapters

 - The problematic aspects of Celebris's character arc 

 - Pride and Prejudice style teary confessions of love that are far too overdramatic to fit with the rest of the story's tone

 - 'Sith are RAEG and EVIL and AWFUL in a way that doesn't make sense' spotty worldbuilding 

 - Overall poor writing


	35. ANNOUNCEMENT 2

Heads up! 

I'm going to be changing how I post the rewrite (again, I'm sorry :( this is a real stab in the dark sort of re write format) 

From chapter 3 on out, I'll be returning to posting the re-write under Iustitia. Iniura will be deleted, as will all chapters post chapter 3 of Iustitia. I'm hoping that this will be less confusing than having two seperate fics up, and it will remove the confusion that having both the old version and the rewrite up at the same time poses. 

Chapter three should be coming out in about a week and a half, and that's when Iniuria and chapters 4-34 of Iustitia will be taken down


End file.
